Billy Stinson
by EccentrikPirate
Summary: HIMYM & Dr. Horrible crossover. What does Barney Stinson really do for a living? Why, of all places, did he decide to fulfill his community service hours at a homeless shelter? And why, oh why, does he seem to hate frozen yogurt so much?
1. Prologue: Everything You Ever

A cross over between How I Met Your Mother and Dr. Horrible's Sing Along Blog, so I bet you could guess who it's gonna be about (I also posted this in the HIMYM category under a different title, I couldn't decide which one I liked better and the site won't let you upload two stories with the same title anyway) . Anyhow meant to take place sometime in season one after Marshall starts working for Barney's company, and yeah it's alternate universe enough to completely exclude any of Barney's acquired back story at that point (episode: Gamenight...though it was part of the inspiration for this. Just sync up the `Horrible Credits` to Hippie Barney's transformation into Womanizer Barney and laugh) and to, of course, include a sing along blog...

I hope somebody out there enjoys this. Reviews and feedback of any sort always a appreciated. And a warning this may be slow to update as I'm working on an Evil Dead/ Supernatural fic and oh yeah, college. Hoping to keep this as short as possible as well. But yeah, enjoy!

Prologue:

"So, Barney, what brings ya to the city`?" the cigarette-reeking- nosy- New York-driver asked the blond kid in the back of his cab.

"It's Billy," he muttered through clenched teeth, lowering his chin deeper into his hoodie. He focused his blue gaze at the massive gray abysmal buildings passing them by, in no mood for idle chatter.

"Sight seein' I bet," the cabbie laughed gruffly, lighting a cigarette with his free hand. Billy choked loudly from the backseat, hoping his potent chauffeur would get the hint, "Or visitin' family," the cabbie said with that white stick stuck between his lips. Billy made no attempt to answer the annoying man. Instead he glared at his cabbie's reflection in the continuously unchecked review mirror, mentally strangling the life out of the pudgy man with his eyes.

"Yeah," he chuckled, pretending to understand the tension spawning from their silence, "it's family right? S'it the in-laws, Barney?"

Billy inhaled sharply, his glare narrowing, "it's _Billy_," he hissed, then dug his teeth deep into his bottom lip to keep from hissing anymore.

Either the cabbie was intentionally not listening or playing dumb, "well?" he prodded the frustrated man behind him.

Billy sighed in defeat, pushing his eyes shut in order to keep the painful `what-if` images from taking over his sight, "I don't have any family…" he answered softly.

"Ah, that's too bad, Barney," the cabbie replied unsympathetically.

"Billy!" the blond released an exasperated breath. Billy was beginning to sense this chat was more for his driver's entertainment than anything else.

"So why ya here?" the mostly one sided conversation went on without a hitch.

Billy snickered, a smirk curling on his lips, "work," he answered darkly, suddenly realizing how much he was beginning to loath his job, "I got promoted…" his gaze and mind drifted from the cab for several seconds, thinking back on the heinous criteria that earned him this `promotion`.

"You won't last long," the cabbie coughed.

"What?!" Billy snapped, tightening his shoulders.

"Dressed like that," the smoker made a nod in his mirror at Billy's ratty sweatshirt, faded Tee, and torn jeans, "you won't make it very far in this town."

Billy pouted and refused to say another word at his busy-body driver.

"Well here ya are," the cabbie announced to a sulking Billy as the yellow vehicle pulled in front of a looming tower of glass windows. He read the address aloud. This was the place alright, the place Billy's new `boss` had sent him for some unknown purpose. Not, of course, before giving the young man a thoroughbred lecture on how his attitude held `room for improvement`. Oh, and that if his attitude didn't `improve`, say good bye to all those `good health benefits`.

The young man growled at himself in hate, stuffing a wad of cash into the cabbie's sweaty, filthy palm. "Hey no need to get grumpy!" the driver huffed, had he been saying something just now? "Nobody wants to hear it, but if you ever want to succeed in this town you're gonna hafta make some serious changes, kid."

Billy did his best to ignore the cab driver's words as he hauled his duffle bag from the backseat and stepped out into this cowardly new world of corporate greed and hiding behind briefcases. Just as he had his feet planted firmly on the sidewalk the wind picked up, hurling a neon orange flyer into Billy's face. He could hear the cabbie chuckle at his expense.

The young man removed the flyer, nearly crumpling it in his fist, "Heh heh heh," his former cabbie laughed, shifting his taxi out of park; "starting with those clothes I guess. See ya later, Barney," the driver paused for a moment, "it was Barney, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," Billy answered, not truly hearing the cabbie's words. His attention was drawn to the bold black letters sprawled across the orange advertisement in his hand: **SUIT UP!** "Barney…"

"Well good luck to ya!" and with that the cab was gone in a puff exhaust fumes.

The blond man groaned inwardly. The cabbie was right. He'd have to change. He couldn't stay `Billy Buddy` anymore. That person was dead in every sense. This was a chance for a new life, a new `career` -- _your dream `career`, _a little voice reminded him—in a new city, in a brave new world to conquer, (Though technically it was still all the same world, just a different place in it)_. This was it, this is what you've always wanted so just go ahead and _take _it! This, Doctor, is what you were always meant to do. _He sighed, knowing he'd have to keep reminding himself of that.

"First things first," the `new` man smirked to himself, crunching the flyer into a ball, "Barney's going to need a new suit."

Hope somebody liked it. Reviews, feedback, & ideas are, once again appreciated.

Thanks!


	2. Freeze Ray: Tell Your Friends

Chapter 1: Freeze Ray: Tell Your Friends

"Muwahahahaha," cackled New York City's most notorious—okay _only_—evil mad scientist, "Ahahahaaaa! AhahahaAAaAAhhaaaAAA!"

Those stranded within the locked bank with the villain and his companions could not—to the villain's delight—ignore his laugh as it echoed off sparse walls. The people shivered, their captor grinned with pride. Everything was going according to plan.

Then the blond man cloaked in a handmade crimson lab coat sighed, brandishing the weapon strapped to his wrist at his hostages unenthusiastically. Those unlucky people trapped inside the bank cowered away from whatever sort of gun happened to be buckled to the villain's right arm (simply a modified small sized stun ray, but nobody had to know that) and trembled in fear. Sigh again. Bank robberies, whoopee, like the horrible Dr. Horrible in all his horribleness hadn't done that before.

"This is soooo beneath me," he groaned, now exceedingly bored. The Doctor then noticed a shivering raven haired patron with doe eyes (and very well endowed) on her knees before him. Damn! No wonder she was shivering. Must be cold, wearing nothing but that slutty halter top and some Daisy Duke shorts.

"Oohhh ," the Doctor cooed at his frightened hostage, a quirky smirk playing at his lips, "and how would _you_ like to be?"

"W-what?" she stuttered, avoiding eye contact, though the doctor's baby blues were anything but visible behind his trademark eccentric goggles. Again he exhaled, sensing a panic attack forming inside the black haired Daisy. Best to leave this one alone, he concluded.

Dr. Horrible continued down the line of strangely obedient hostages. He passed an elderly woman, uptight obsessive compulsive business man twitching, old guy with a cane, middle aged mother of four (he could tell by her hips), pot smoking college kid, a tourist, a balding teller, an ugly, an ugly, a fugly, and a _hel-lo_. The doctor raised a brow, redhead, she's cute.

He approached her gingerly, "The doctor's in," his voice was smooth, the tool of a perfected pick up artist.

She spit at his feet. Dr. Horrible backed off; she must be the _hero_ type.

_That's not me,_ a familiar annoying, disgusted, almost conscience like voice fluttered through the Doctor's brain.

"Doc, turn it off, we've got work to do!" One of the Doctor's loyal union provided henchmen—with normal sweat glands—called to him from inside the vault. No doubt he was referring to his employer's legendary libido.

"Right!" he quickly snapped to his hostages, reaching beneath the folds of his rouge lab coat to pull forth his signature long shafted weapon, "Freeze ray!" he explained to the poor shivering girl from before. His words only resulted in the steady growth of her confusion.

"Yeah it's really this big," he then added, unable to resist, "barely fits under my lab coat, tell your friends." He winked to the damsel behind his goggles.

_Seriously?_ The voice droned, _is that the sort of thing the world can expect from Dr. Horrible? That he be another lowlife bottom feeding pig just like the one you pretend to be—_

Dr. Horrible aimed and fired his freeze ray into the crowd in less than a heartbeat, ceasing time for the hostages, and gaining some privacy for the crooks.

"Shut up, Billy…" the Doctor sighed under his breath. Thankfully none were animate enough to have heard his remark as he strolled on over the vault, leaving his second, more muscular henchman, on hostage duty… just in case.

He honestly couldn't remember when the voice of his Inner Evil suddenly became the voice he spoke with, or when he finally managed to leave every trace of Billy, the man he'd used to be, in the dust…save for the fact that the voice of his Inner—nay, now Outer—Evil was soon replaced by the haunting voice of `Billy`. Like a reverse conscience…no…wait, it would have been a reverse conscience before now it's just a normal conscience…or a mild case of schizophrenia…

But all was well… or as well as evil gets…because Billy never spoke anymore. Not out loud.

"Are we almost done in here—" the doctor had begun to snap at his henchman, before realizing that he simply couldn't remember the names of the new guys the Henchmen's Union had sent over just last week, "Hired Help?" he finished.

Help blinks, "My name is…"

"Yeah I know what your name is," the Doctor fumbled, "I…just…like mine better!" he covered up his memory lapse, "Mine's awesomer!" A few brief moments of stumbling silence, "are you almost done, because the freeze ray doesn't last forever and there are reporters outside!" Dr. Horrible sputtered quickly and awkwardly, as was his custom. He gulped thinking of that one teeny tiny little detail that still needed to be modified on his freeze ray. Ugh… if Bad Horse knew that kink still hadn't been worked out.

"There are reporters outside?" Hired Help grinned, "cool."

Dr. Horrible rolled his eyes, though the gesture would go unnoticed behind his goggles, "No, not _cool_!" he shouted, "they could get your face on camera and somebody out there could _recognize_ you!" he shouted into the new guy's face, jabbing a black pleather gloved finger at his chin.

"Relax, Doc,"

"It's _Doctor Horrible_…" he hissed under his breath.

"It's only Metro News One," his second hired hand shrugged, sneaking a glance out the window, "nobody watches Metro One."

Dr. Horrible grimaced, "Heh, right."

* * *

"Evil has struck again," the beautiful reporter began as the cameras started rolling outside the bank where all the `action` was taking place that morning. It was the third time in four months that this notorious `villain` had made headlines. _This_ heist, however, was the first Metro News One managed to claim before any other channel. One small step for Metro News One, one giant step for Robin Scherbatsky, " …where, supposedly, inside the elusive criminal known as `Dr. Horrible` and two accomplices are holding several bank employees and patrons hostage. As of this moment we are unable, however, to provide the exact number of _or_ the identities of the hostages. Nor do we know the motives of this self proclaimed, and media shy, `super villain` but we can assure you, New York, that the NYPD are here and are doing everything they can to calm the situation and bring the hostages out safe, and sound. This is Robin Scherbatsky, reporting live for Metro News One."

* * *

"What's the plan, Doc?" Hired Help inquired, peering over his boss's shoulder through the shaded window. All three men huddled together, sacks of loot draped over each henchman's shoulders. Their task was nearly complete, now all they had to do was make it out of the bank as easily as they had made it in. Of course _somebody_ pulled the alarm and alerted the police and the media to their crime.

Dr. Horrible ground his teeth—partially because of hearing his unwanted nickname—but mostly in secret annoyance at Bad Horse for giving him such stupid busy work for the league while Fake Thomas Jefferson got to head up the Evil League of Evil's NYC base. He was, of course, sitting in his cozy office right now plotting Bad Horse's world domination via conference call while Dr. Horrible got to keep the authorizes good and distracted. Six years of service to the ELE and they still hadn't come up with anything better for him to do, _or _any useful plans to bring about the rise of Evil, the turning of mankind, the introduction of anarchy and the forceful redistribution of world power. The least they could do was _listen_ to his ideas...pft, like that would ever happen.

"Freeze ray," Dr. Horrible informed his henchman, "I'll give them shot but I'm not sure just how far it will reach, so make a break for the car the second I do and pick me up around back."

* * *

"I need a smoke," Robin muttered to no one. Of course getting caught with a cigarette was certainly not good for any TV reporter's image. So, during the long winded weather report followed by endless commercial breaks, _she_ took the chance to break away from crowd and dart into the nearest abandoned alleyway.

Metro News One wasn't the only station covering the bank heist slash hostage situation anymore, but at least they got to say they were there first; even if it was by pure chance only that the station was only a few blocks from the `Dr. Horrible's` bank of choice. _What a stupid name_, Robin thought as she lifted a lighter to the tip of her cigarette. _If I were going to be an egocentric super anything I'd choose a better name than `Dr. Horrible`. _

Robin relished in her moment of privacy as she inhaled the nicotine and cancerous chemicals from her cigarette. Sure, she'd quite. Later. Now she had to worry about staying cool under the pressure of drawing in the most viewers of their live bank robbery broadcast than any other channel. Not to mention that fact that her camera guy and Channel Six's camera guys' turf war over the best angle of the bank entrances was giving he a headache. They'd been doing that a lot lately, or at least as often that Metro One and Channel Six crossed paths out on the street: meaning the last two `Dr. Horrible` fiascos. Robin wasn't quite she even understood the fascination with these comic book-esk villain characters constantly committing ordinary theft in ridiculous methods and circus clown attire.

"Well, time to get back to work," the journalist exhaled, flicking her cigarette butt to the pavement. She crushed the smoldering stump with the toe of her boot.

"Somebody's coming ou-!" Robin heard a woman from the throng of onlookers behind police tape yell. Robin's shoulder's stiffened when the woman's voice suddenly died out. Her silence followed by the panicked screams of other bystanders, until after only several seconds the shouting ceased abruptly and only frozen quiet remained.

"This way!" a man's voice roared at the entrance to Robin's makeshift break room. The breath caught in her throat, somebody was coming and it _didn't_ sound like anybody good. Instinctively the journalist ducked behind the nearest pile of garbage to avoid detection from the footsteps racing in her direction.

The thin man passed her first, dressed all in black, calling to his partner as he rushed by. Robin remained unnoticed in her hiding stop as she watched the thin man—carrying several sacks of currency—vanished into the natural darkness of the alley. A moment later the pavement shook a little beneath the reporter. A second, much slower, runner hurried past. Well, his stride was hardly a hurrying one. His form was so full of muscle bulk and overstuffed bags of cash that he called more than once for his companion to wait for him. His calls fell on deaf ears, and he continued to pant at what Robin assumed to be his top speed into the darkness.

The girl flinched slightly from her hiding place, desperately yearning to sneak after the thieves and follow them all the way back to their lair. Of course Robin had to chuckle a bit at the thought of a `lair` but it still seemed like a good enough plan to get her promoted, or at least increase her ratings; if she made it out alive. Scherbatsky sat still for a minute, weighing the pros and cons before figuring: _ah, what's the worst they could do to me?_

Robin dashed from her hiding stop, aiming her sprint for the depths of the alley, before being full contact tackled to the pavement.

* * *

Dr. Horrible hadn't been paying attention to his course. Instead, freeze ray in hand, he kept his focus over his shoulder as he sprinted into the alley way where he was supposed to meet his henchman. He couldn't risk the freeze ray powering down and releasing the witnesses—and the police—as he made his escape.

"AAhh!" something very firm and very human squealed as it collided with the mad scientist's back. Both bodies tumbled to the ground in an odd tangle of limbs. Dr. Horrible nearly squealed himself as the freeze ray flung from his arms and skittered across the pavement, practically bursting a blood vessel in fear for the machine. He very sincerely hoped that his most prized invention hadn't been damaged… right before his cranium was also knocked against black pavement.

The doctor groaned, unsure whether or not he had just blacked out and remained fully conscious during his fall. The back of his skull radiated with pain, as did his ear, and temple, and cheek, eyeballs, mostly the whole left side of his face, or about three quarters of his head. The crash had transplanted his goggles over his nose and mouth and right cheek as well. An ache in his gums he had missed before suddenly pushed to the surface. Damn! Did he knock out a tooth?

Dr. Horrible groaned, rubbing a hand over his sore cheek. _Get up_, he urged himself. There was a time limit and he had to stick to the schedule. The blond man attempted lifting himself off his back, but that plan was quickly thwarted by the two extra legs interlocked with his own. He shifted slightly, the hazy memory of a collision swimming back into his abnormal brain.

There, lying beside him with her cheek against the ground, an attractive journalist blinked slowly.

"Gahh!" Dr. Horrible flinched, immediately recognizing Robin Scherbatsky of Metro News One despite her glossy eyes and the bleeding crack in the skin of her forehead. For a moment his internal organs ceased to operate and all the air was choked from him to make room for his stomach in his throat. The feeling hadn't subsided once the scientist could tell that the woman's consciousness was returning and her double vision subsiding ever so slowly. The girl's brows silently furrowed as she peered into the face of her tackler. He needed to leave. He needed to leave _now._

As swiftly and gracefully as he could—which isn't saying much—Dr. Horrible freed his half of legs from their entangled web. He didn't bother adjust his goggles but rather allowed them to slide down around his neck as he scampered to retrieve his precious freeze ray. He hadn't the time to survey the potential damage now. Several incoherent noises bled from the villain's mouth as he raced onward, ignoring his burning aches and pains. One of those noises may have been an apology for brutally tripping over the woman still lying on the pavement.

The woman's brain swirled in confusion as she watched the evil doer in red dart from her side and down the alley way. But as his footfalls disappeared into the darkness a name was pulled to the journalist's lips, "Barn…?"


	3. They’re Probably Going To French Kiss

Chapter 2: And They're Probably Going To French Kiss, or Something…

"Hey, there she is!" Ted Mosby: architect, announced as Robin Scherbatsky entered McClaren's bar, "our little crime fighter!" he teased the woman. Barney Stinson's entire body tensed in his seat beside Ted. He could see that Robin wore a fluffy white bandage taped to her forehead as she made her way over to the group's usual table.

"Stop it," Robin grinned at Ted, dragging a chair to the end of table and taking a seat. Ted grinned in return, "It was nothing!" she insisted.

"Oh c'mon," he urged, reaching across Barney in order to give Robin a pat on the arm, "face to face with one of the city's most notorious criminals. That's something. Tell us all about it."

"How's your head?" Lily chimed in, genuinely concerned for her friend's health. Robin groaned.

"Hurts like a bitch," the journalist reached across the table for the pitcher beer waiting for her, Ted again made an effort to reach over Barney to slide Robin a cup, "but no major damage."

_Sorry_, Barney thought, quietly sipping his scotch and soda.

"Speaking of head injuries," Robin shot the blond man a suspicious look, causing him to nearly choke on his drink.

"Yeah, Barney what happened to you?" Marshall asked from across the booth, his arm linked with his fiancé's.

Barney grimaced as Ted playfully flicked the side of his head, nailing him right in his monstrous purple bruise. He shooed his best friend's hand away as Ted chuckled for Barney's pain, "It's called head board banging for a reason, Marshall, _God_," he huffed, adjusting his tie.

"Wow, how rough does it have to be to leave _that_ kind of mark?" Robin raised a brow.

Barney grinned, "Nothing a few nights of psychical therapy can't fix. And I have a very _energetic_ psychical therapist," he winked.

"Classy,"

"Robin you're just trying to change the subject!" Ted blurted.

"It wasn't really a big deal! I was in the alley behind the bank just having a…minding my own business. I hid behind a pile of trash when I heard some guys coming and when I went to make a break for it I got trampled and knocked out by a high school chemistry teacher," Barney coughed at Robin's insult.

"You spent like the whole day in the emergency room and police station, I'm sure it didn't take eight hours to retell that story," Marshall commented.

"They just wanted to know if I got a good look at the guy so I could provide a police sketch."

"Did you?" Barney asked, sounding more urgent than he intended.

"No! I was practically unconscious!" Robin took a swig of beer from her glass, "besides from what I did see he had these ridiculous welding goggles over his face!"

"Gosh," Lily sighed, "You're so lucky that knock on the head was all you got! Just think of all the things that could have happened to you, literally running into a guy like that!"

"I've heard he's got a PhD in horribleness," her fiancé added. Barney smirked in private delight.

"Seriously!" Lily swatted him, thinking Dr. Horrible's catchphrase a mere joke.

And what if she had run into his henchman instead? What if another member of the League had been there? What if Bad Horse was watching? What if Bad Horse knew she had seen Dr. Horrible's face and he let her live? What if Bad Horse found out that Robin and Barney were friends?

"I can't imagine…" Barney mumbled, drawing the attention of the rest of his companions, all eyeing him curiously.

"Sorry… I meant… I can't imagine… how much _ass_ that guy must get!" Barney recovered with a chuckle, "chicks dig evil," he nodded, "That whole `bad boy` thing."

"Please," Lily giggled.

"Oh you don't believe me? I'll prove it to you," Barney buttoned his suit jacket, preparing to set out on a quest for any woman desperate enough to spend the night with him.

"Please, don't," Ted begged.

"Barney, you couldn't pull off being an _evil villain_," Aldrin jested again.

"Oh can't I?" the blond man replied in seriousness, he rose from his seat, quickly scanned the bar for an appropriate target—a pretty red head, skinny, pale, sort of the quiet shy girl type but that could work, "`The Doctor is in`," he tested the line, "So just watch me!" he announced, then abandoned his friends in attempt to score. His friends laughed, watching him approach the auburn haired girl at the bar he had zeroed in on.

"It won't work," Lily reassured, "No girl in her right mind would sleep with him if he used that line, pretending to be a super villain. Or if he did either of those things separately!"

"I don't think Barney manages to score a lot of girls in their right mind, period," Ted added, "but you know, he might be half right. He is selfish, shallow, and has left a trail of badly burned and broken hearted girls longer than the Great Wall of China in his wake. What's more evil than that?" he joked.

"Yeah…" Robin sighed –her mind suddenly uneasy and swirling with fuzzy images from her incident that morning—as she and her friends watched in disbelief as Barney curled an arm around the red head's waist and lead out of the pub, stopping to turn and wink at his table at the door.

* * *

A pair of bodies flung themselves onto the black sheeted king-sized bed. The auburn haired woman giggled in delight as the man who had so graciously offered her a night at his place slid a cool hand up her thigh, his fingers tickling the smooth skin of her hips. The blond man pressed his hungry lips against hers in response… to prevent any other squeals of obnoxious giggling. He snaked his free hand through her silky curls, allowing his fingers to tangle themselves in her mane. Meanwhile the woman's well manicured hands peeled away at his clothing, practically ripping the buttons from his shirt as she torn it open to reveal his chest. His action reply was to playfully twist his fingers around the elastic band of her underwear, hoping for her appropriate rebuttal.

He got what he expected.

As one hand explored the terrain of his chest the other was sloppy fiddling with the buckle of his belt. He urged her to continue in her persistent tugging on his belt with a bite to her lower lip. She bit back. He slid a knee between her legs; she slid a hand down the backside of his pants. Their breathing quicken simultaneously. The man removed his lips from hers, giving the couple a moment to resupply their need for oxygen. His lips then continued down a new path as he planted a trail of rough kisses from the red head's collarbone, to her chin, to her ear. Not a moment too soon was the woman victorious in her battle against the stubborn belt buckle.

The man inhaled the scent of his partner deeply. She smelt like something…familiar. Lavender, like that laundry detergent he'd used on his pajamas the other day. Or was it fabric softer that held that lavender smell?

_The smell of fabric softener, the feel of warm clothes in your hands…_

"Penny…" he moaned longingly with a rush of breath into the red head's ear.

Suddenly, a pair of very _sharp_ finger nails were shoving against his chest. In his hazy state of distracted the woman managed to thrust him off of her and flat onto his back, "Who the hell is Penny? My name is Sarah you dick!" she shrieked, kicking herself up off the bed.

It took several seconds of heavy breathing and rapid blinking for Barney to realize what was happening, "No wait!" he pleaded, his voice unintentionally monotone, "came back, i didn't mean that!"

Sarah plucked her discarded shoes from the cold floor and marched out the room, "What is she your girlfriend?!" she screamed.

"No, no, no. Oh look what's that, behind your ear, ohh wait, see--?" with a flick of his wrist Barney removed a copper object from his sleeve to an uninterested audience, "look, see, it's a penny!" he finally had to shout to overcome the sound of his front door slamming shut.

Silence, save for Barney's panting and the pounding of his own pulse in his ears. She left. He pressed a cool palm over his eye, hoping to wipe away the rise of heat pooling in his cheeks.

"What the hell…" he muttered. He'd never slipped up like that before. Not ever! How did that even happen? Why?

Penny. Penny. Penny. Penny.

No. He hadn't so much as thought that name in years, let alone spoke it aloud. Now she—it! It would be stuck there, in his brain, irremovable. Barney gulped. Penny. He could think of nothing but Penny as he stared blankly into the darkness. An ache rose in his chest. An ache he had though he had buried a long time ago. Damnit! Why couldn't dead things just stay buried?

_No, you didn't mean that! _Billy scolded from inside, _that sounded insulting_!

`Maybe I was talking about you`? Barney wished to reply and silence the nagging voice. He dared not, however, unwilling to part his lips any further in fear that…that name may escape again.

Penny.


	4. Among Our Viewers

Chapter 3: Among Our Viewers

Robin Scherbatsky's finger nails clawed at the bandage unflatteringly taped to her forehead. The damn medical tape was far too itchy to simply be `left alone` as the doctor had advised. It was pissing her off. The combination of tasteless coffee and overwhelming fatigue probably didn't much help her mood either. It was two o'clock in the morning her dogs were asleep, her entire building was asleep, her friends were most likely asleep and_ she_ was still awake, still sitting in the same chair she'd planted herself in earlier that night and still utilizing the Google search engine to fulfill her yearning need for information.

Robin had left the bar early that night, not long after Barney's departure. She claimed to be wore out from her day's `adventures` and the group let her go without a struggle. In truth she merely needed some time alone to research a few things.

Something about this Dr. Horrible had just been bothering her all day, especially after the conversation at the bar and Barney's attempt to pass for a super villain. Inside Robin's brain danced many questions the journalist desperately craved answers to. Like who was Dr. Horrible behind the lab coat and goggles? Nobody knew. Were there _any _decent pictures of him without those stupid eye pieces obscuring his face? None that she found so far—most were distant or blurry or had somehow been wiped off the face of the planet. Where had the doctor come from originally?

The answer to that last question she had actually discovered rather easily, Los Angeles. Robin uncovered from the achieves of the internet several newspaper articles—dated as far back as six or seven years ago—depicting Dr. Horrible's escapades. Robin had never before given much thought as to how long the mad scientist had been on the loose, but apparently much, much longer than she had expected. How could he have not have been caught by now? He didn't seem all that stealthy this morning. Nobody ever picked him up for a parking ticket or something else that was stupid like public urination? The journalist couldn't find, however, exactly when Dr. Horrible had arrived in New York City. He certainly maintained a lower profile in this city than he had in his last.

The doctor wasn't always such a big shot either. There was little written about Dr. Horrible as a small time crook, often foiled by the hero Captain Hammer in his feeble attempts at crime. This Captain Hammer was another character Robin had never heard of until today. Apparently he was some super star super hero back in LA, but for a while had fallen on hard times. Not so coincidentally Dr. Horrible's rise to fame (and America's Most Wanted) coincided with Captain Hammer's fall from grace. According to the papers Captain Hammer was severely traumatized after, for the first time ever, being defeated by Dr. Horrible during the dedication of a building to a homeless shelter. There the foe had crashed the dedication and murdered the Hammer's serious long term girlfriend…what's her name.

_Honestly, the poor girl dies and nobody can even remember her name?_ Robin sympathized with the woman who lost her life at the hands of a man who—she figured in retrospect—could have taken hers as well. There was a video and several photographs of the incident, but the tape was crap quality from the camera being mishandled and dropped during the commotion, and still nobody seemed a good enough shot to get a clear picture of the doctor's entire face!

Robin had found other names of villain's and suspected accomplices of Dr. Horrible, along with the aliases of several `heroes`. None of them mattered though. What she needed was more information on the doctor.

Scherbatsky had just about given up her scavenger hunt for any clues to Horrible's identity. She was tired, cranky, and her head ached. Despite every logical bone in her body telling to call it a night, her fingers scampered over her keyboard once more, having just one more go at a Google search. A slip of the keyboard landed Robin on a different website than she had intended though, something stupid about blogging. She sighed. What the hell? Searching a blog achieve certainly couldn't turn up any less results then she had already found. Robin typed the words into the search box: Dr. Horrible. Enter.

The page silently loaded for several seconds, reminding Robin to "please wait". _This is stupid_, she scolded herself, _you're not gonna find what you're looking for here._ Just as Robin was about to give up and abort the webpage the Gods of the internet found it the appropriate time to smile upon the journalist and produced truly miraculous results.

She stared; mouth agape, at the dozens of blog entries entitled Dr. Horrible's Blog all lined up for her. According the website Robin had stumbled upon ten pages worth of Dr. Horrible's home videos with such titles as "My Freeze Ray", "Wonderflonium", "Quantum Leap vs. Quantum Physics," "Trans-Matter Ray", "Laundry Day", "Super Hero Memorial Bridge Plan", "Stun Ray", "ELE Application", "Captain Hammer is a Douchebag", "Leave Me Alone Johnny Snow", "Captain Hammer is STILL a Douchebag", "Anarchy…That I Run!", "My Birthday", "Mayonnaise", "1.7724…" and so on. Next to each title a tiny thumb nail of the video stood frozen, a blurred image of Dr. Horrible's face present in each one.

Robin couldn't believe her eyes. _Jackpot!_ She thought, giddy enough get up and dance on her coffee table. She had discovered a journalism goldmine! Of course, first things first; she dragged her mouse over to the first video listed at the top of the page. "My Freeze Ray" it was titled. _This ought to be interesting_. Robin clicked the thumbnail.

"Ahahahahahahahahahaaa! HahahaaaAAaahhaaaAAAAaaaAAaa!" exclaimed the moving image of the white coated, blue eyed doctor, "so that's, you know, coming along."

Robin froze, unable to tear her eyes away from the monitor, "Oh…my…God…."


	5. It’s A Brand New Day

Chapter 4: It's A Brand New Day

The night air was cold and bit fiercely into Barney Stinson's skin. He wasn't wearing a coat, or gloves, or ever shoes. The rapidly freezing grass crunched beneath his bare toes. The frigid temperatures, however, didn't keep Barney from his quest. He wondered aimlessly through the dark cemetery, pausing briefly at unfamiliar graves in hope of recognizing a name he didn't even know he was searching for.

Hope. Something about that word made his chest tighten. He felt sick. He curled his near frozen arms around himself in order to hold is arching body in one piece. The pickup artist's legs wobbled, almost giving way. Barney's body was finding it difficult to fight off the growing nausea in his gut and the intensifying urge to claw inside his own chest tear out the organ causing him so much pain.

A gust of icy wind passed over his skin, freezing him to his core. With it the breeze carried a melody, soft and distant and innocent: "_dreams are easy to achieve…if _hope_ is all I'm hoping to be…"_

He shuddered, for reasons other than cold. Dreams. Didn't he have those once? Billy's mind had, at a time, been filled with hopes and dreams and goals to be an achiever, to be respected, to change the world, to make _her_ see…to understand.

He loved her.

The once dreamer was now beginning to lose any feeling left in his limbs; a chilling reminder of his new policy to remain numb. Feelings were overrated. They only got in the way of what truly needed to be done. And thinking about _her_ was certainly not a part of the new agenda. He needed to keep those unnecessary thoughts at bay, but as he struggled to leave _her_ in the past those unnecessary thoughts fought hard to stay afloat.

"Billy?" a wounded voice called from the darkness, "Billy is that you?" she sounded so…_fragile_.

Slowly, carefully, unwillingly Barney pivoted, numb feet scrapping against the frozen grass, to confront the voice haunting him. His body quivered in fear and anticipation and dread at the chance of connecting a face to a memory.

Barney's knees finally buckled when his eyes beheld the sight before him. An auburn haired woman sat limply, back against her own tombstone. He skin was ashen, lips and finger tips tinted blue. Her breaths were quick, shallow and fading. Her blue dress was stained black with blood. Pieces of shrapnel protruded from the woman's stomach and chest, glistening with frost. Her once beautiful face was nearly unrecognizable. Her lips had once been full and pink. Her cheekbones hadn't been sunken last time he saw her either. Her glazed eyes had used to be bright and hopeful and full of life, instead of dizzy and unfocused. Surrounding them were eerie pockets of gray. The worst, the very worst part was that pieces of her white flesh had already begun to rot, and continued to ice and decompose before his very eyes.

"B-billy?" she panted, her formerly emerald irises unable to find the man in front of her.

He gasped a tiny, pitiful, painful cry. One hand trembled against his also trembling lips, trying to cover his agape mouth. The ache in his chest was now a searing pain coursing through his entire body. He couldn't blink, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't speak, and he couldn't even lift himself from his place and rush to scoop her up into his arms. His second shaky hand gradually moved, reaching out to touch her cheek.

"Billy?" her gentle voice asked for him again. This time a spark seemed to ignite deep within her pupils, as they finally to find his own distraught gaze. Her eyes had captured him, freezing his body when the cold could not. His hand ceased its course only inches away from her pale skin. He desperately willed the appendage to move again, to just touch her, but it wouldn't obey. Instead flakes of skin peeled from her cheek where his fingers would have brushed her and fluttered like dying leaves to the grass.

"Billy Buddy…why?" she asked him, tears forming on her lashes, "why?" she whispered, the water from her eyes crystallizing into ice, "_why me_?"

Only one word carved into the slate supporting the woman was visible (her dying body concealed the rest): Penny.

* * *

Barney jumped from his mattress as he awoke, crashing to his bedroom floor. His bruised head throbbed from the impact. His mouth was dry. His limbs were all stiff, heavy and unwilling to corporate with his brain. So Barney remained still, lying on his belly amidst tangled sheets for a long time. His breathing was heavy, and despite the frigid temperatures of his apartment his bare chest was drenched in sweat.

Penny. He had dreamt of Penny. Not since his vow to stay numb had he had a dream about Penny. Of course that was no dream but rather a nightmare.

Barney shivered as the image of a freezing, dying, helpless Penny overtook him once again; though the vision was soon disrupted by the blonde man's alarm clock. The harsh sound of morning chased away the remaining bits of fatigue from his body.

_It's a brand new day,_ Billy sighed; a solemn sound from the dusty corners of the mad doctor's mind.

Barney waited for a moment but no other quips or scolds followed the lonely sigh. He could already since the depression setting in all over again for his old self.

No letting _that_ settle though. Just shake it off, it's just another phase and it will pass. Just be numb, remember?

Barney pushed his body up off the floor, yawning as he did. A pound of his fist ceased the clock on his nightstand from screeching. Before heading off to the bathroom Barney dug his fingers into the corners of his eyes in an effort to remove sleep dust that had gathered. It almost didn't surprise him to find water on his finger tips that morning.


	6. Laundry Day, See You There

Chapter 5: Laundry Day, See You There

"NNooooooo," Ted Mosby protested, "There is no way…"

"Ted, just look at it!" Robin Scherbatsky laughed, directing his attention back to the screen of her laptop. Ted had been the only one home when Robin arrived at the shared apartment of Ted, Lily and Marshall that evening. The journalist immediately sat the architect down to view her latest discovery. He begrudgingly complied, only mildly interested in the `rare find` his friend kept badgering him about over test messages all day. The woman was giddy to witness her friend's reaction.

Ted stared, eyebrows knotted, at the scene unfolding on the computer: a curiously familiar blonde man, manically—yet nonthreateningly—laughing, decked out in a white lab coat and welding goggles, read aloud several ridiculous and insulting emails.

"Dude. Your'e not. My nemesis," Dr. Horrible said into the camera.

"Nnnooooooo," Ted uttered in disbelief once more, "that can't be…" he stole a glance at an excited Robin, "Robin, no!"

"Why not?" she practically shouted.

"Besides, there's kids in that park…" the blog continued. In that millisecond of dialogue Ted thought he recognized the sardonic tone, but quickly brushed that thought from his mind.

"Because Barney is not `Dr. Horrible`!" after saying it out loud for the first time Ted found himself nearly laughing at the outrageous idea, "he is not a lab coat wearing, gold bar melting, blogging—"

"Barney's already told us once he has a blog," Robin injected, her voice containing a hint of Sherlock Holmes, "that none of us have _ever_ seen."

"Mad scientist," Ted finished with a sigh. He realized there would be no convincing Robin to drop this.

"Laundry day. See you there," Mosby turned his attention back to the computer, "Under things…tumbling," the awkward Doctor recited his poetry.

"Please don't tell me he's singing now…"

"Oh, he's singing!" Robin outright laughed.

"How did you find this?" the dark haired man couldn't help but crack a slight smile at the maladroit musical.

"On accident, really," Scherbatsky reached over to increase the volume on the laptop for her own amusement, "I was researching Dr. Horrible."

"...special needs…_anyways._"

"It can't be him Robin," the journalist shot Ted dangerous look, "Barney does not blog about being a super villain with a crush on a girl in a Laundromat!"

"Are you kidding me?" Ted didn't answer, "Oh so I suppose Barney has an _eviler_ twin running around, bl-" Robin could barely finished the word without giggling, "blogging now?"

"…stop…the pain."

Ted silently watched the screen. He wanted to disprove Robin and believe that his friend was not making an idiot out of himself on the internet. This wasn't him. This wasn't Barney Stinson. Barney was, strangely enough, both a lot dumber and smarter than whoever made this. Of course, this _whoever_ looked an awful lot like Barney. He sounded an awful lot like Barney. He didn't act much like Barney, though, and that was the only detail allowing Ted to hold onto the hope of this buffoon_ not_ being Barney.

"That's the plan," Dr. Horrible declared, "Rule the world. You and me. Any day," The doctor then gave the webcam a sly wink.

_Aw, crap,_ Ted thought.

"Okay so _maybe_ it is Barney," Robin burst into victorious laughter, "But what on earth would give Barney the idea to impersonate Doctor…" Ted paused. He knew _exactly_ what would give the womanizer that idea, "Oh man, you don't think this is all part of some elaborate plan of his to prove us wrong do you? To convince us that he can pick up chicks by—"

"Ted," Robin interrupted the architect a second time, all traces of laughter had left her voice. He was surprised at how quickly her demeanor had transformed from school girl giddy to news reporter serious, "I'm having a hard time myself believing this is a hoax."

"Oh c'mon, Robin, sure _that_ might be Barney, but I doubt he's the real Dr. Horrible," the woman didn't reply. Ted felt the air between them grow tense as her jubilant mood completely vanished, her gaze sticking to the screen of her laptop, "Robin, this is _Barney_ we're talking about, you do realize?"

"This video is dated six years ago, Ted."

"What?" Ted swiveled back to the computer to inspect it himself.

"I looked through just about all of them," Robin confessed, "the most _recent_ one I could find is also six years old."

"Yeah, but, you can fake that can't-"

"It coincides with Dr. Horrible's move from LA to New York…"

"Oh my God, you think this is real," it was Ted's turn to chuckle now, "Robin this is _so_ a hoax! What sort of criminal keeps a blog of his crimes?"

"They're true, I crossed referenced them with news reports from Los Angeles," the journalist pleaded. Ted was beginning to wonder if she ever received an ounce of sleep last night with all her researching.

"Anybody could have gotten a hold of those news reports and connected the dots. Besides, nobody knows what this guy clearly looks like so what's to stop somebody from pulling one over on the rest of the internet?"

"Yeah, but this somebody you're proposing is Barney," Robin raised a brow at her opinion of flawed logic on Ted's part.

"And you're proposing our _friend _is a criminal currently more dangerous than the mafia!" the man snapped back.

"When did you meet Barney?"

"Five years ago, but what does that even matter? I met you a few months ago it doesn't make you Wonder Woman," Robin folded her arms over her chest, "My God, Robin Scherbatsky are you Wonder Woman?!" Ted gasped in pretend awe.

The woman rolled her eyes, "Ted, seriously. What does Barney do for a living?" Mosby prepared to answer but stopped himself, realizing he didn't have one, "Have any of you ever been to his apartment? Met his family? What about that bruise on his head?"

"What about it?" Ted remembered the giant purple mark decorating the side of Barney's face.

"Yesterday," Robin began hesitantly, "Yesterday when I ran into…Dr. Horrible," she hated using that stupid name, "he fell over too," Ted Mosby sighed, his expression one of annoyance for he already knew what the girl before him would try to sell. Robin sensed Ted's disbelief, "He hit his head! I saw it!"

"You said you were practically unconscious," he moaned.

"Practically, not totally!" Robin yelled in exasperation, "he hit his head and those goggles popped off his face and…and I could have sworn he looked just like-"

"Don't!" this time it was Ted's turn to interrupt. He was no longer amused by Scherbatsky's find, "Robin you hit your head pretty damn hard. Your mind could be playing tricks on you," the journalist wordlessly shook her head in denial, "you saw the bruise, then the video."

"No! Ted!"

Before either could unleash a string of unpleasant words the apartment phone rang. Ted plucked it from across the table without saying anything first to Robin, hoping to avoid further argument.

"Hello?" he answered. Robin watched as his eyes light up, "Lily? Lily, whoa, wait a second slow down!" Robin froze, recognizing the panic in Lily carried via phone line through Ted, "What?!" he gasped, his tone became frantic, "What happened…no…of course…holy crap, is he?... Robin is here. Where are you? Lily… Lily, where are you? Okay. Okay… Just Calm down Lily we'll be right over, alright?... I promise, you just hang in there okay?... We'll be right there, Lily!" a brief pause, "we'll see you soon."

"What the Hell happened?" Robin asked after Ted ended the call. All the tension created by their previous conversation had dissolved. The color had drained from Ted's face and his fingers trembled as he returned the phone to its charger. The journalist could feel her own fear rising via lump in her throat.

"Marshall is…"

* * *

Earlier that very morning—long before Ted Mosby ventured home from work and right after Robin Scherbatsky realized she had fallen asleep at her dining room table and was now late for work—Barney Stinson directed his cab driver to pull over. The smoky cab was stifling, and Barney found himself much preferring the cold air to the movable yellow box. He needed to clear his mind, and that wasn't going to happen in the back of a cab that smelled like somebody fornicated in it. Actually, for all Barney could recall _he_ might have been the one to use the backseat for extracurricular activities.

The womanizer paid the cabbie what he owed and stepped out into the deceiving sunlight. From indoors the day looked bright and warm—if you ignored the semi naked trees—but the cold wind disproved any theories of warm weather on the rise though. Stuffing his hands into his suit pockets Barney stepped one foot in front of the other, determined to walk the remaining short distance to his office.

He inhaled deeply. A lung full of fresh air should chase away the nagging thoughts jumbled in his brain. Instead all he absorbed was car exhaust, causing Barney to choke a little. That certainly didn't improve his mood. His mind was still cloudy, jammed so full of memories and equations and images and random thoughts that he couldn't tell one idea from another anymore.

The blonde one wouldn't dwell on anything for too long though, as he continued his journey. He'd only gotten a few more steps before the toe of his shoe accidently kicked an abandoned soda can and sent it skittering down the busy sidewalk. No one noticed. Nor was anyone noticing the immense pile of trash overflowing from the nearest bin. Newspapers, hamburger wrappers, broken bottles, chewing gum, tissues, napkins, an half eaten hot dogs all surrounded the overwhelmed can. Not that anybody cared.

_Penny would have…_, Billy reminded him.

Damn it! Did all things lead back to Penny?

Barney passed a Laundromat further down the street. It took all his self restraint to keep from staring longingly at the happy couple sorting colored sock from white socks in the window. Penny had mostly colored socks. She liked brightly colored things. Barney could feel the weight of her memory pressing down upon his shoulders, anchoring him in melancholy.

"Stop it," he scolded himself. No time for any of that nonsense.

"Shit!" Stinson overheard a woman curse from inside the Laundromat. She fumbled through her purse, frantically searching for an item she probably wouldn't be able to find, "shit, shit, shit," he watched her sigh then lift her head, "does anybody have a quarter?" she called to her…

_Fellow laundry people?_

Barney ground his teeth, "shut up…"

"Anybody?" she asked again, "please, my clothes are wet and I don't have any change…" every other occupant of the Laundromat skillfully ignored her, not willing to share their precious coins. All glances were averted from the poor girl, reminding her that this was New York, and she was most certainly on her own. Barney kept moving.

Something tugged at the expensive fabric of Barney's pant leg.

"Please spare some change, sir?" asked an elderly, dirty, unshaven man in worn clothes littered with holes. In the man's withered had was a Styrofoam cup, "Spare some change?" he asked again, more politely then Barney had expected. Without a word the man in the suit ignored the homeless beggar huddled on the sidewalk and walked on. Why should he care anymore than the rest of ignorant humanity? He was evil.

_Penny would be ashamed…_

Penny. He couldn't unglue his thoughts from Penny. For a moment Barney closed his eyes, remembering the warmth of her finger tips as she gently laid upon his cheek. He remembered how gravity seemed to draw the pair together that afternoon. How she leaned just the slightest bit closer to him, her emerald eyes locked on his baby blues, and how he followed suit… until Captain Hammer ruined it. Barney growled internally at the thought of the `Captain`. He could feel the anger rising in him. Captain Hammer didn't deserve Penny. He was such a jerk and a pig and never appreciated Penny for the truly stunningly awesome woman that she was! She was so beautiful, so perfect…and then Captain Hammer…Dr. Horrible had warned him not to touch the Death Ray…but that bastard…he ruined everything…Penny.

_Was your fault, _his `conscience` said bitterly, _if you hadn't gotten so carried away that night. If you hadn't gotten so carried away _period_. If you hadn't been so determined to go against your own morals to be accepted by the League. You killed her…,_ Barney clenched his hands into fists, passionately hating himself and his inability to control his own demented mind, _I killed her… _

"_Will you lend a caring hand_?" Barney's eyes fluttered open upon hearing that soft, familiar voice, "_To shelter those who need it_?" He blinked several times. He was having trouble comprehending the vision shimmering in the sunlight only feet away from him. Penny. Penny was right there, singing as her eyes sparkled and her auburn hair gently danced in the breeze, carrying her scent with it.

"_Will you help_?" she asked passerbies kindly. He voice is graceful, innocent, elegant, perfect. Barney inhaled, desperate to draw her perfume into his lungs. It drew her attention. She turned her bright and smiling features to him, hand outstretched and holding some sort of petition. Just like the first time they spoke. Barney gulped. This was Penny. Beautiful, Beautiful Penny.

The lovely woman's smile faded the moment her eyes met his. Penny's breath hitched in her throat for moment as her eyes lost their sparkles and grew troubled, "Billy?"


	7. What a Crazy Random Happenstance

Chapter 6: What a Crazy Random Happenstance

"Billy?"Penny addresses him cautiously, a glint of a fear—that he deserves—twinkles in her eye. "Billy?"

Barney blinks. The air escapes his lungs in ragged breaths as he works up the courage to speak. He's sure every person on the street can hear his heart thumping in his chest. "P-penny..." he stutters.

The sun plays with her hair, revealing flecks of gold in her auburn strands he'd never noticed before. It reminds him of autumn. His hands tremble from resisting the urge to touch it.

"A penny?!" her sweet, melodic voice answers. Her expression is that of disgust.

"Wh…wa…wh…" Barney stumbles over his words, unable to complete a single syllable. His vision blurs. The image before him shifts and swirls. The burnt auburn of Penny's hair is overtaken by gold. Her eyes transform form green and soft to a set of disproportionate blues. Subtle freckles vanish. Her skin grows tan, and was it him or did she just get shorter? Barney blinks several more times in attempt to correct his failing eyesight, but when the haze in front of his pupils lifts Penny is gone. In her place is a young blonde, hair strung up in pigtails, Catholic school uniform and everything. She stands akimbo, scrutinizing the suited man before her.

"You'll only donate a penny?" Pigtail's tone is pure acid.

"I'm sorry?" is all Barney can manage beneath her dagger filled glare. His head was still spinning, trying in vain to rekindle his hallucination. Even an angry Penny was better than this.

"I asked if you would like to donate to the Help the Homeless charity and you say all you'll give is a penny?" she surveys his pin striped, black Armani and crimson tie, "jerk!" Pigtails snarls and makes a point of stomping over Barney's toes as she marches away.

"I…uhh…umm…sorry…?" Barney sighed in defeat. It was going to be a _long_ day.

* * *

"Hey, Barney!" Marshall Eriksen greeted his friend and coworker happily, as was his nature, "I brought your coffee in from your secretary," the taller man placed the cup on his friend's desk.

"Thanks…" Barney grumbled…then sighed, which realized he'd already been doing too much of today. He kept his eyes intently focused on his laptop, his forehead resting between his fists. Barney was in no mood for Marshall's unnatural perkiness. He'd nearly forgotten—until Billson felt it necessary to remind him the second he stepped off the elevator—that today `the Doctor` had an appointment with TJ at ten o'clock. Barney knew that meeting wouldn't exactly be _pleasant_. It was an annual thing, TJ insisted on being up to date with Dr. Horrible's `productivity`.

_"Now Dr. Horrible," Barney's boss had once said, on his first day in New York if he recalled correctly, "we can't be keeping any _secrets_ from your fellow members of the ELE."_

_"Of course not…" Dr. Horrible had muttered then. _

_"Especially not from Bad Horse," TJ spoke to him as if he were a child that got caught eating the crayons._

_The doctor gulped, "Nope." _

_"Bad Horse has quite the temper Doctor, oh, what I am saying? Of course _you_ know that!" the younger villain ground his teeth as his superior mocked him, "with your secret little experiments!" TJ forced a chuckle._

_"That was a failure," Dr. Horrible blurted, "…with all due respect…sir." _

_"Of course it was," the elder man grinned._

"What'cha workin' on?" Marshall asked his `bro` pleasantly, eager to break the awkward silence that had unintentionally formed between them.

Barney snapped into action as the young lawyer leaned over his mahogany desk. What he was working on was top secret experiments for the League. The blond man quickly shuffled his papers into random folders—not bothering to keep any sort of order. Barney shoved the disorganized folders into his drawers, leaving his companion thoroughly perplexed. He couldn't let Marshall get even a glimpse of his equations or data, though even if the lawyer did find them Barney doubted he would comprehend the formulas and designs scribbled down.

"Nothing," Stinson answered, a bit too casually.

"Okkaaayyy," Marshall seated himself in the empty chair in front of Barney's desk.

"So…how are _you_ this lovely morning, Marshall?" the blond man chuckled, his grin a little too wide.

"I'm fine…"

"Ah, yes, and the fiancé, how's Lily?" Barney needed to keep his fingers from tapping along his desk top as Marshall blissfully indulged in the details of his future wife's well being. Barney nodded along, paying little attention as he reached for his coffee. He snatched the cup up quickly as Marshall giggled the words "French-toast" for some unbeknown reason. Barney lifted the cheap cup to his lips, expecting the near boiling liquid to swash haphazardly onto his tongue.

"And so then she passed me the syrup," Marshall giddily explained. Meanwhile Stinson's mouth remained unburned. He peered one blue into the cup.

"My coffee is frozen…" he announced.

"What?"

"It's frozen," a puzzled Barney allowed his friend to investigate the cup, poking his pinky at the brown block of ice, "where did you get this?"

"Tracey, your secretary…"

"Where did she—" Barney stopped mid-sentence as both men realized the iced coffee's most plausible origin.

"Butterfield!" they shouted in unison. The pair leapt from their seats, ignoring the solid beverage, and fumbling for the sets of binoculars Barney kept behind his desk. The duo stationed themselves at the wall sized window the office provided, simultaneously applying the binoculars to their faces. They aimed their sights to the building across the street, directly into the office of one Clark Butterfield.

"Is he doing the Chicken Dance?" Marshall wondered aloud as he Barney observed their pudgy, jolly opponent performing some sort of victory celebration, "what'd you do to him?" Eriksen asked.

"I don't... nothing yet," Barney mused, he abandoned his binoculars, sick of watching his office war nemesis jump about jubilantly. All that for a frozen cup of coffee? Seems a bit anticlimactic. Usually their pranks were far more…disgusting. Well, Butterfield wasn't exactly the original or creative type. That was always Barney's angle, "how did he… this isn't his style, he plays defense, I play offense. Four hour retaliation window, c'mon Clarky stick to the program!"

"Maybe you're just off your game," the taller man shrugged.

"Hey, Marshall! Marshall, look at me," Barney grabbed his friend's binoculars, holding them hostage as he aimed his index and middle finger into the lawyer's eye sockets, then turned the gesture on himself. Repeatedly, "I am at the _top_ of my game, alright! The very top! I am the _best_ at what I do. I am at my peek and nothing or _nobody," _Barney's voice was staggering dangerously into the range of falsetto, "can bring me down! And I do not feel guilty or alone!"

"Whoa, chill dude," Marshall gently lifted the binoculars from his buddy's grasp, afraid he might toss them at something fragile. He patted the blond man's shoulder to calm him and allowed his breathing to slow before speaking again, "What was that all about?"

"Nothing," Barney swallowed. What the in the hell was that all about was right. He adjusted his cufflinks. What on earth was up with his mouth running away on him lately? He'd need to take control of that, and fast.

"Hey, is that a parka!" Marshall laughed excitedly, his focus once again on the window leading into Clark Butterfield's office.

"What?" Barney nearly squeaked, his balance temporarily stolen from him. He caught himself on the back of Marshall's chair. Whoa, now what brought _that_ on?

_Look, I'm just trying to change the world! _Billy yelled inside of him, _I don't have time for a grudge match with every poser in a parka!_

Barney lunged for the window, reapplying the binoculars to his face as he did. His pulse raced as he frantically tweaked his sights for a clear view of Butterfield's office. Inside it, behind the frolicking idiot, a blue, furry, parka hung limply upon a coat rack. How had he not seen this before? He and Butterfield had been mischief rivals for years. How could he have never before connected the dots? Barney's mind was suddenly flooded with thoughts of that ridiculous parka.

Years prior, right after his arrival to the east coast, the League had sent him on his first official mission: to steal some nuclear material from a plant down in Jersey. The pickin's were _not_ slim in that category.

_"Not so fast, Doctor!" an obnoxious voice yelled as Dr. Horrible hovered in the control room of the nuclear factory. He recognized the annoying squawk at once. It belonged to none other than the wannabe hero Johnny Snow. _

_"Oh, you've got to be kidding…" the Doctor grumbled, habitually readjusting the goggles protecting his blues. _

_"I don't joke when it comes to fighting crime, Dr. Horrible!"_

_No of course not, "Dude, did you follow me here?" _

_"Like a cold front moving in from the west at twelve miles per hour, I came to put an end to your crime wave!" Dr. Horrible stared, confused and exasperated, at his not-nemesis, fully bedecked in a blue fuzzy parka .Dr. Horrible held Johnny Snow's gaze—at least the best he could through his goggles and the furry hood and ski goggles obscuring Snow's face—until the latter found himself forced to break the silence, "see what I did there with the weather puns…"_

_"Yeah, Helen Keller saw what you did there, Johnny, now if you'll excuse me…"_

_"Oh no you don't Dr. Horrible, I cannot allow you to destroy the Garden State!" Dr. Horrible sensed Snow's building concentration and the sudden chill floating through the air._

_"Uh, Johnny, that might not be such a good idea…"_

_"Silence! You can't use this plant in your evil schemes any longer, evil doer!" and things begin to ice…_

_"I'm gonna go," Dr. Horrible muttered before fleeing the scene, unable to obtain what he came for. _

Long story short, nuclear power plants don't react well to being instantly frozen. The accident zone is still highly radioactive to this day.

Then Barney's mind wondered into the past again, to the spring 2006. This time the ELE allowed him to capture an armored car on its way to a chemistry lab upstate for some much needed supplies.

"_Freeze, Dr. Horrible!" Johnny Snow—who was bitter from having failed his induction requirements for HAG (The Heroes Alliance Guild) – shouted as he dismounted his winter themed vespa._

"_Oh no…" the younger Dr. Horrible groaned. He didn't have time to deal with this buffoon that day. His knock out gas wouldn't keep the driver and guards unconscious indefinitely, "listen, Snow, can we do this later, I'm kind of busy right now." _

"_Not a snowflake's chance in Hell, Evil Doer!" Dr. Horrible could feel that familiar prickling of Johnny's almost useful powers._

"_Seriously, dude, not a good idea…"_

Certain irradiated chemicals needed to properly construct a teleporter do not react…well…that section of high way was closed for reconstruction for several weeks following the incident. And that project remains in a folder marked `incomplete`.

Then another, more recent memory popped into Barney Stinson's mind. It was last fall when he broke into the MET on a mission to steal a certain artifact; a false, hollowed, Roman stature new to the exhibit to be precise. Inside Dead Bowie—then spying in Rome—had slipped the League some information via code about a certain operation the European sect of HAG had been planning. Of course it was Dr. Horrible who had been charged with the _dull_ task of retrieving said statue. Honestly, he thought the whole idea was a bit elaborate. Hadn't anyone ever heard of FedEx?

"_I thought I'd fine you here, Dr. Horrible,"_

_Dr. Horrible sighed, "Hi Johnny. How's your HAG application coming along?" the doctor made no effort to cease his heist, he had made it this far without tripping any alarms. Besides, it was always best to simply ignore the pretend crusader than actually deal with him. Johnny Snow was more of a nuisance for the Evil League of Evil than a true threat. An extremely terrible nuisance. _

"_I've decided to simply `chill` this year,"_

"_Didn't get in?"_

"_Nooo!" Snow whined, kicking at the floor._

"_Well, that's too bad," Dr. Horrible activated an invention he affectionately referred to as The Claw. A ray that produced a magnetized anti-gravity force field encasing a certain object, capable of lifting up to a hundred times the gun's original weight, handy when doing some heavy lifting and transporting. He named it after those silly claw machines with the stuffed animals inside, "better luck next year."_

"_Or I could bring you, my nemesis,"_

"_You're not my nemesis,"_

_Johnny Snow enthusiastically ignored Horrible's quip, "in to the NYPD and the Heroes Alliance Guild will accept me at once!" Dr. Horrible felt a slight ping of familiarity at Johnny's words, but the feeling was soon buried as Snow excited punched a mitten clad fist into the air… and it unfortunately collided with a marble carved, priceless work of art. That work of art toppled, and collided with another, and another, and another. The domino effect. _

_The two foes stood in silence as the alarms begun to blare, "Now look what you've done!" Dr. Horrible scolded, "You've successfully managed to destroy an entire exhibit of naked people! Way to go!"_

Emerging from his memories, Barney knew he needed to take control of his life. Everything about him was beginning to fall apart at the seams and it must be stopped at once. First Penny (damnit, there was no getting rid of her) and now an increasingly bold Butterfield. Who, in reality, was the ever aggravating Johnny Snow. Dr. Horrible couldn't let himself fall to pieces now that he'd come so far. There was no way he'd let Johnny Snow/Clark Butterfield get the best of him. And Penny!...well...Penny could have all she wanted. But no! No, he could not let that happen! No amount of crazy glue would be able to fix the tortured genius if he shattered now, and Barney Stinson, it seemed, knew exactly the remedy for fixing a train derailed.

"A parka, you say?" a smirk tugged on the corners of Barney's mouth, "Huh. What a crazy random happenstance."

* * *

Author's Note:Honestly not my favorite chapter, I had a tough time writing the flashbacks, I hope they turned out alright.


	8. Assasination is Just the Only Way

Author's Note: Dear _God _you have no idea how much I've missed writing this. Sorry this update is sooooo late, but I had to quit writing fiction cold turkey for awhile in order to finish the necessary essays needed to pass college, which I hear is important. And I know this chapter is a bit short, but more is coming. I have not abandoned ye readers, have no fear!

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 7: Assassination is Just the Only Way

"Hey, Stinson," Barney turned to face Billson's head poking into the office, "it's ten," was all he said before ducking right back out. Barney smirked. Good. Good because now he knew exactly the sort of news his boss should be thrilled to hear. Barney, Dr. Horrible, had discovered the true identity of Johnny Snow, the singularly most annoying pest the Evil League of Evil has ever encountered. Brownie points for the doctor.

"What's at ten," Marshall inquired. He was busy entertaining himself with one of the many miscellaneous objects that cluttered his friend's office.

"Oh, just a meeting with one of the higher-ups," Barney replied nonchalantly, shrugging it off as `no big thing`. He made a point to straighten his tie, "I'll see you after lunch?"

"Yeah, sure," Eriksen answered, his tone distracted, "Hey, Barney?"

"Yeah?" the blond man pivoted back to his companion and froze.

"Is this a laser tag gun?" Marshall chuckled with curiosity. Barney swallowed hard. He gently outstretched his fingers to the gun in effort to take the device away from the easily entertained man. The answer to Marshall's question was in fact yes… and no. Very, very much _no_. _Yes_, as in it had _started_ as a simple tool used to psychologically cripple bratty twelve year olds. _No_, as in Dr. Horrible had been in the process of recalibrating the once harmless toy into an actual laser. He knew it was very `Star Wars` but it certainly left less evidence to test than bullets did while still, essentially, inflicting the same amount of damage. Assuming it worked properly.

"Yes…" Barney said, "and it is my trophy for being _awesome_," he snatched the weapon from the taller man's prying fingers and boasted with pride, "Funplex Ultimate Lazer Tag Champion, three years running, whaddUP!" a fist was outstretched, and as predicted the appropriate bump was returned with some reluctance.

* * *

Though a sense of routine now surrounded the annual `progress reports`— _God,_ what is this place, high school?— something about going one of one with his superiors still managed to throw Barney's intimidation meter off the charts. But not this time! This time he would confidently enter that office with purpose. He would report his most recent finding to TJ, and would be graciously praised for his skills of observation, leading to the assignment of less petty crimes and more meaningful tasks of the utmost Evil importance. He'd receive the respect and recognition he deserved.

_Never was all that it's cracked up to be, is it? _Billy confessed in disappointment. The League was held in high hopes once.

Barney pushed the little voice inside him back down. He knocked his knuckles softly against the heavy oak door before him once to signal his arrival. "In," a muffled voice replied. Barney straightened his posture. Moment of truth.

The inside of any high class employer's office is meant to intimidate the lesser beings of the corporate food chain. Dr. Horrible's "employer" was no exception. The head of eastern ELE command—and second only to Bad Horse himself—was a well known United States diplomat… in the 18th and 19th centuries. Or at least he pretended to be. Nonetheless, Fake Thomas Jefferson took playing pretend president fanatically serious. `TJ's` office in question was an unwaveringly accurate replica of the White House's own oval office…just post the election 1800. The walls had been rounded, the furniture polished and authentic, the lighting kept dim (to set the mood of `evil`). It even matched Fake Jefferson's bedazzled 19th century presidential garb. Never was he caught without it. None who ever entered the League knew what the villain looked like without his trademark costume. Meanwhile, any other evil doer associated with the ELE was required to dress `professional` and business like while in the building.

Fake Thomas Jefferson did not pick his head up when the oak door clicked shut softly. Nor did he when Barney cleared his throat. The fraudulent founding father kept his aging face focused on his correspondence, his eyes shielded from view by that stupid triangle hat. Barney had no doubt it was Bad Horse who would receive those letters being inked via quill. The sound of the feather pen scratching against parchment was the only noise the room produced for an agonizingly long time. The scientist tried to speak, but the words he had planned fled quickly upon entering the oval office. He wanted to boast loudly to Jefferson that Johnny Snow had been discovered, that it was Dr. Horrible who uncovered the nuisance, that it was _him_ that should writing letters to Bad Horse concerning the impending world domination!

Instead all that floated up Dr. Horrible's throat was a deep, "uuhh…"

"You're late," TJ responded as he dipped his quill into a vile of ink.

"Sorry S—"

"Well, let's get this over with shall we?" Jefferson sighed, laying down his quill, "How are your assignments coming along this month, _Doctor_." The dead president's voice dripped with mockery. The _doctor_ felt his jaw clench and his teeth begin to grind. He desperately wanted to lash out and berate the lazy excuse for a villain but his jaw was wired shut. TJ gently slid his papers aside as Dr. Horrible willed his muscles to relax and the elder villain folded his arms neatly across the antique desk.

"Fine!" Horrible finally blurted. The politician raised a brow at such poor conduct. The younger man cleared his throat and flattened his tie before proceeding, "Yesterday's heist was a success," he answered carefully, "in total the requested amount of $52,175.89 was procured from the vault." Busy work.

"Good, good," Fake Jefferson nodded, "tell about Project D2, how is that coming along?"

"Heh," Dr. Horrible shrugged a bit, trying to play it cool. The truth was not well, "Excellently!" he finally smiled, "The Robot Army prototype is near completion," someone in the League, not naming names—_Professor Normal_—had seen Terminator far too many times than any human being ever should. He was convinced that robots were the way to go. Create enough of them to follow your commands and you could take out entire continents in one fell swoop. Of course there was always something about the robot angle that had made Dr. Horrible cringe. Too many things could go wrong.

Jefferson nodded, "this is good news."

The doctor winced, "The thing is…" he scratched his temple, "I'm…uh… having a tid bit of trouble creating the artificial intelligence program. Nothing to be too worried about, Sir! it's just some trial and error thing, you know, how much artificial intelligence is too much and how much is not enough!" he tried to make his voice sound casual, almost joking.

His boss's gaze remained cold, "oh," TJ replied flatly, "Mind control powder?"

"Works better in gas form actually," Jefferson gave a sharp nod, "Nooot very potent yet, however, and doesn't last long," Horrible winced again remembering his last test subject, "also some _interesting_ side effects…"

"Transfiguration ray?" TJ went on bluntly, ignoring the younger man's comments. Dr. Horrible expected as much.

"45%," On small mammals only… _also _with some interesting side effects, "I could use some more material…"

"What do you need?" Faux Thomas snatched up his quill and withdrew a fresh piece of parchment.

"Um…" the blond man's eyes wandered, "B12…"

There was a pause, "the vitamin?"

Dr. Horrible squirmed beneath Jefferson's stony glare, "Yeeaahhh," TJ remained still, "it's complicated." The elder man's only reply was another curt nod.

He knew he was being pathetic. What happened to his magnificent plan? What happened to rushing in all triumphant and shouting out his great find? Was the fearsome mad doctor lacking in courage?

_Balls, _Billy spat inside his brain. Barney felt like spitting back: "grow a pair". This was just like Billy to chicken out at the last second. Why, _why _did he always revert in the worst possible way under the scrutinizing hawk eyes of the League?

"DNA cloning and organ growth?"

"Chh, _please_," Barney rolled his eyes. Fake Thomas Jefferson glared venomously at the blond doctor. Stinson cleared his throat, "I mean 100%, Sir," there was a rumor spreading that the eldest member of the ELE—who happened to be sitting mere two feet away—was in failing health and desperate need of a few transplants. Of course, those were only rumors. Like that time Fury Leika spread word that Dead Bowie was actually a spy for the Heroes Guild. It took some time to convince the villain that _Dead _Bowie and _David _Bowie were two very different people, and no, _Dead _Bowie _couldn't _be a hero. Not even for one day. Bad Horse blamed the woman's stupidity for that more than anything else.

"Good, good. You're freeze ray is a success is it not?"

"Getting better every day," the question made the younger man wary. He'd hate for Jefferson to scold the freeze ray, his most prized invention.

"You managed to freeze an entire crowd outside that bank yesterday, didn't you?" the doctor nodded, "does it get much better than that?"

Was…that…a…compliment? It stunned the doctor, "Uh…well… you know what they say: `always room for improvement`."

"Excellent," just then a smirked danced across the pretend diplomat's face. This was a rarity; it made Dr. Horrible flinch a little, "I have something for you, Doctor."

"You…what…for me?" Dr. Horrible gagged. Generosity? Another rarity.

From beneath his expansive and polished desk TJ withdrew a silver briefcase, "while you were distracting the authorities yesterday afternoon," Dr. Horrible felt his jaw tighten once more at Jefferson's casual admit to the doctor's near useless purpose, "Fury and her henchmen raided a physics lab in Soho," the doctor raised a brow, "it's a very secretive lab," Thomas explained.

"Is that So-ho," his boss ignored the quip. Of course. _Of course_. Send the man with a 187 IQ to create a distraction while a ditz like Fury got the real crime. A physics lab?! A fricken _science laboratory_?! The girl who couldn't even spell physics got to knock off a _laboratory?!_

"And she managed to obtain this for you," Jefferson slid the case marked `Wonderflonium` across his desk to the scientist, "you should thank her. Ahem, so I trust…" the president blabbered on.

Dr. Horrible could feel his eye twitch slightly as he gingerly clicked open the briefcase to inspect its contents. He paid zero attention to TJ's speech, and a moment later let the case slam shut in disgust, "it's been bounced hasn't it? Great," he mumbled, "great, yeah, thanks. Thanks a lot for bringing me _bounced _Wonderflonium. This…this is completely useless to me. But that's okay, it's not like she could have known…it only states `do not bounce` right on the case…" the doctor paused for a moment to look up. Jefferson had heard a word of his miniature rant, to self-indulged in his own jabbering.

"I have news, Sir," the words poured from the evil genius's mouth before he could think twice.

Jefferson stiffened a moment, displeased with being interrupted. "Pertaining to?" he prompted gruffly.

"Johnny Snow," a small noise of abhorrence escaped Fake Thomas Jefferson. Dr. Horrible was not the only Evil League of Evil member who was accustomed to Snow's spontaneous arrivals, or bad puns, or his amazing ability to foil everything through sheer annoyance. He wasn't even a threat to the League. After all, his `day job` was right next door to the ELE's East Coast Central Command and— as far as the doctor could tell—was utterly clueless. "I've found him. I mean, I know his secret identity and…where to find him."

"Take care of it," the fake president sneered. With a dismissive wave of his hand TJ resumed his writing.

"Excuse me?"

"Take care it, use one of your little inventions. I don't care how you do it just get rid of the pest. I'll send word to Bad Horse once you do. He should be pleased," Jefferson didn't look up.

"Kill him?" the scientist nearly squeaked, "You want me to…" Jefferson flicked his wrist to enforce Dr. Horrible's removal from his office once more. He needed no reply.

_Well, what did you expect him to say?_, Billy remarked, _'Invite him over for biscuits and tea?'_

"Of course, Sir," Dr. Horrible exhaled, "I'll get right on that."

* * *

More Author's Notes:

1. To all you Dr. Horrible lovers out there, I made a silly little slideshow/music video for everyone's favorite evil genius, just for funzies, if you feel checking it out: .com/view?id=268B3750C55911DDA480000423CF037A

2. Dear Beth, if you are reading this could you please message me an email or something other way to contact you? Please & thank you!


	9. That's All Johnny Snow

Chapter 8: That's All Johnny Snow

Clark Butterfield tapped aimlessly at his keyboard. This morning had been grand. He'd finally pulled one over on Stinson before Stinson could pull another one of his disturbing tricks on him. He'd even happily gloated for a little bit, dancing like a fool at his cousin's sweet sixteen (not that that had actually happened). Clark had watched—via his own pair of binoculars—Stinson's friend bring him the contaminated cup, unconsciously setting his meticulous plan into action. He anxiously sat on the edge of his wheelie chair as he waited for Stinson to try and take a sip. The Styrofoam object seemed to sit on his desk for hours, rather than a mere minute or two. And then he did it. The moment had finally arrived. Clark laughed out loud as Barney's face contorted in confusion, and again when the pair of men leapt from their seats to spy on Butterfield. He had prepared a special dance for the occasion.

Clark had also briefly worried about the possibility of a meltdown before Stinson fell into his trap. But Johnny Snow was good at what he did. Real good. In fact, Clark now wondered why he had never thought of this prank before.

The wannabe hero's eyes suddenly fell longingly at the denied application occupying the corner of his desk. Oh, right, because heroes weren't supposed to use their 'gifts' or powers for personal gain. Selfish high school grade stunts weren't exactly considered noble or justice like.

But that document's arrival had prompted his out of character attack. He was just so fed up with the Guild's constant refusal of him. He needed to let loose a bit, to lash out. What better target than that corporate bully Barney Stinson? Sucker deserved it after all the revolting crap he'd put Clark through. What had_ he_ ever done to that jerk to merit that kind of treatment? So Clark decided that it was worth it, even if the Guild didn't approve. It was worth it just to see that confounded look on Stinson's mug. It's not like he knew anything about the Guild anyhow.

Then why did part of the Snowman still feel a pang of guilt for using his powers on a civilian? This was the part of him that hadn't boiled over with glee and danced the chicken dance. This was the part that tried to justify the act: Snow needed to stay sharp. He needed to practice his 'element of surprise' maneuvers. He couldn't allow himself to be caught off guard anymore. Dr. Horrible could launch another assault at any minute and he needed to be prepared to meet his nemesis. He was already kicking himself for missing yesterday's heist. Oh, and Stinson? Well Stinson was the perfect target because…because…just _because_. He was horrible. Clark knew his track record with women and his jackass personality thanks to the office rumor mills. Sometimes Butterfield pondered that Barney Stinson might be even more evil than—NO! That was silly. He was just a jerk. Nothing more.

Clark reread the Guild's disapproving scribbles on his application. "No foiled crimes thus far, no villains brought to yet to justice," HAG's leader had jotted, "give up on Dr. Horrible…and don't quit your day job." How could he give up on Dr. Horrible? The two had been sworn enemies since the day Goggle Face's blog first surfaced on the web. In two days flat the geek had already earned more hits than Johnny Snow's blog did in a month. After a few weeks Snow realized that as an aspiring hero it was only his duty to see what all the fuss was about. As he listened to the doctor speak, as he watched him fiddle with his goggles and bash heroes everywhere and praise Bad Horse like a thirteen year old ogles Zac Efron Johnny Snow knew, he simply _knew_, this man was born to play evil to his good, villain to his hero, fire to his ice, night to his day, dairy products to his lactose intolerance! This evil doer needed to be cornered and shut down before he could do any damage to the peaceful world around him! So Snow sent that first email. The email that requested the two do battle a week from Sunday to cease Dr. Horrible's crime spree before it had even begun. The villain accepted eager to wage a war against the forces of good.

Dr. Horrible never showed. Johnny Snow waited an hour and twenty four minutes before calling it quits. Did the evil doer chicken out? Did he pack up and run to avoid the confrontation with his self-proclaimed nemesis? No. Later that night as Clark surfed the web he came across an update on the doctor's blog.

"_Captain Hammer," Dr. Horrible shook a fist at his webcam, grinding his teeth together as he chewed the name, "Captain Hammer! Who—" the doctor paused to inhale a frustrated breath, adjusting his arm captured by a sling, "who does he think he is, dislocating my shoulder! Come ooonnn! Play ground bully tactics much? Pssh!" Horrible tried his best for several long seconds to feign disinterest in the hero who had defeated him. The scientist finally bit his lip and came to a conclusion for the calculations racing through his brain, "You know what, 'Captain Hammer`" he made quotations with his fingers and sneered, "You wanna make _me_ your nemesis? Fine! You'll be my nemesis, and we'll see whose left laughing in the end!" Dr. Horrible's voice had lowered into a menacing growl. He attempted a cackle that only resulted in a few weak coughs as he reached to switch off the webcam._

Snow sent another email that night, demanding to know exactly why Dr. Horrible hadn't showed. Johnny Snow was supposed to be his arch enemy! Not Captain Hammer! Didn't Captain Hammer already have enough crimes to foil on his plate? Snow insisted upon a rematch. His reply from the doctor: "get a life."

Clark sighed, picking up his binoculars once more to check on Stinson's office. Empty. It had been empty since ten. Where was that jerk? Clark felt like rubbing his victory into Stinson's nose some more.

There was a sudden knock on Butterfield's office door that caused him to jump. The binoculars tumbled out of his clammy palms. They crashed onto his desk, sending his application fluttering to the ground. Clark's face snapped up, hoping that if he ignored the suspicious mess so would his visitor. His jaw nearly fell to the floor when he noticed whose figure it was that stood in the threshold to his office.

Barney Stinson leaned casually against the doorframe, his hands buried deep into the pockets of his expensive suit. What sunlight managed to sneak through Clark's window at this hour cast strange shadows surrounding Stinson's body. The gold light only illuminated the man's silk attire from the chest down, making his tie glow a bloody red. His face was completely shrouded in the faint darkness. Butterfield could tell Stinson's eyes were pinned to him and that the man scowled deeply. The shadow gave Barney's face such an evil expression. A slight shiver, and not the kind Johnny Snow would be used to, crept up Clark's spine. Stinson said nothing.

Butterfield gulped, working up the courage to speak. He reminded himself to remain confident. For all he knew, Stinson might just be here to admit his imminent defeat, "come to admit your defeat in person, Stinson?" Clark greeted the intruder loudly. He realized this was the closest he'd ever actually gotten to Barney in person.

"Over a frozen cup of coffee? Please," was Stinson's soft reply.

"Then why are you here?" Clark exhaled in agitation. This guy really was just a regular jerk, no matter how creepy the lighting made him look, "trying to give me some cryptic warning of your next attack? Thought coming over here in person would give it a little flair? I have work to do, man."

"Ha, right, of course," Stinson chuckled. His voice dripped with sarcasm and non-enthusiasm—a lethal verbal combination, "filling out that HAG application for the umpteenth time? _That _can be trying." The suited man rolled his eyes. Clark froze—no pun intended—how did Stinson know about that? He swallowed hard. Even in the shadows Clark could still pinpoint the icy blues that were his rival's irises. He never knew they were blue before.

Stinson carried on, "Or are you rescuing kittens from tree tops today? Oh, wait, what am I talking about, you're too incompetent for even _that_!" Clark's hands trembled. Fear of being discovered had overridden his anger at Stinson's comment. Something hidden behind Barney's eyes seemed to whisper '_harsh'_ in the brief second that he paused. "Honestly, how could you not have seen it? How could, after all this time, you have never once figured it out? Me? I never bothered to look, but _you_, heh heh, you had face to match up, and you never connected the dots? You really are dumber than even _I _thought you were."

"W-what are you talking about?" was all Clark could stutter. Stinson's low yet vicious taunting left him speechless and denial had always his best defense anyways.

A smirk gradually slid onto Barney's lips, tugging one corner of his mouth upward. His blue eyes sharpened themselves against Clark's itchy skin. "I'm sorry Johnny," Stinson apologized light-heartedly "was that just a _horrible_ thing of me to say?"

Stinson took a calculated step forward. Clark immediately dug his heels into the carpet and launched his wheelie seat backwards, only stopping after he collided with the wall. Stinson lightly "tsk-tsk-ed" Clark. He then withdrew a hand from a silk pocket and reburied it into his jacket.

"D-Dr. Horrible?" Clark had finally managed to find his words, "you…Stinson, you're…you're?" Barney nodded, his steady eyes never leaving Clark's panicking ones, "what do you want?"

With a flourish of high-class fabric Stinson—Dr. Horrible— ripped the gun from his under his jacket. He aimed the black and red trimmed weapon at Clark's forehead as it began to whirr to life. Butterfield's limbs tingled with crippling fear as he watched red sparks jump about inside the machine.

"You want to kill me…" Clark Butterfield came to the sudden realization that those words would probably be the last he ever spoke. He cursed himself for not being able to work up enough energy or strength or courage to combat the evil doctor and fight for his life about to be terminated.

Dr. Horrible grinned that slimy, vile, evil grin of his, "That's all Johnny Snow," and pulled the trigger.

* * *

Author's Note: Dear Beth, If you were trying to send the direct link to your email via review, the website automatically erases said link, and I have therefore not received it. Sorry.


	10. I Think You're Slipping

Chapter 9: I Think You're Slipping

"Barney?" Marshall Eriksen called for his friend as he poked his head inside the unoccupied office, "Hello? You in here?"

Marshall didn't wait for the reply he knew wouldn't come and slipped inside the office. Barney's door clicked shut behind him. The big man needlessly tip-toed over to Stinson's desk, afraid of getting caught unsupervised in the…whatever-the-heck-Barney-did's office. He had had a quiet morning, so instead of attempting to stick pencils in the ceiling Marshall drafted several Comeback Prank ideas for him and Barney to pull on Butterfield. He took his job as Barney's Executive Mischief Consultant with pride. His plans didn't involve any white mice this time (that experiment failed miserably). Instead Marshall figured a combination of peanut butter, WD-40, and an oscillating fan would do the trick.

He laid the plans down triumphantly on Barney's desk. He noticed he had placed them right next to a very familiar pair of binoculars and wondered what Clark Butterfield was doing right now. Was he still gloating? Or was he trembling in fear—as he should be—awaiting Barney's counterstrike. Marshall picked up the binoculars. What the heck. Nobody was around and it's not like he had anything better to do.

Eriksen stepped up to the window and applied the binoculars to his face. At first he didn't see anything. He knew the location of Butterfield's office by heart now so it wasn't like he got the wrong office. Maybe Clark had stepped out for a bit. Marshall adjusted his sights a bit and something, a red colored flash of sorts, caught his eye from the far normally empty corner of Butterfield's office. The pudgy man slid into Marshall's view as the former collapsed lifelessly from his chair and fell beneath the window panels.

"What the…" the lawyer wondered aloud. Another figure, unrecognizable with his back to the window and in the strange lighting of the office held a gun. At least Marshall thought it looked like a gun. A _huge_ gun.

"Holy crap," did somebody just shoot Butterfield?

The second figure dashed from the room, gun in hand. When the office appeared to be empty Marshall willed for Clark to stand back up, to laugh and dance another silly victory dance. It was another prank. Butterfield had pulled one on Marshall today as well. He was getting good.

Only Butterfield never stood back up. After a while the second man—or maybe a different one, Marshall wasn't paying that much attention to him before—rushed back in. The man immediately bounced across the room and pulled shut the large window's blinds. His view was cut off before the lawyer could get a decent look.

"That is not good," Marshall nervously admitted, hopping across a chair to grab Barney's office landline.

* * *

Barney Stinson groaned as he dragged Clark Butterfield's limp body across the floor. Somebody has been eating one too many Ring-Dings and he really wished he remembered to bring 'The Claw'. That device would have made lifting Chubby Snow so much easier! He also wished he remembered to close the blinds earlier. The doctor was lucky, however, that he remembered to take his freeze ray on this assignment. The tool was what allowed the villain to bypass the rest of Butterfield's floor. He also made sure to temporarily jam the elevator to prevent any other interruptions. He was counting on the time it took to call maintenance and the amount of time it took the freeze ray to wear out to lug Butterfield out of there… or at least into the nearest elevator where he had stashed his other weapon.

Barney paused for a moment. He had managed to drag his no longer non-nemesis nearly out the doorway and needed to catch his breath. His body might be in tight shape but he certainly wasn't a weight lifter…or even athletic. He shook out his hands; the tips of Barney's fingers had turned red from digging into Butterfield's cheap ass suit jacket.

And then the mad scientist suddenly found himself staring down at the man who would probably never receive a posthumous honorary induction into the Heroes Guild. Butterfield's face was pale, sickly pale. His eyes remained closed as if he was sleeping, but no dreamy flutters disturbed his lids. No part of his icy limbs twitched. None of the annoying man's usual idiotic expressions were still plastered on his face, not even fear. Butterfield's mouth just hung open, his tongue nearly dropping out the side.

Barney frowned a little, expecting to feel worse about his current predicament. What had he just done? He waited patiently for the guilt to come in any form. For a moment Barney wondered exactly _what_ he was waiting for; a big red 'K' for killer to pop out of his chest?

_Killing is not elegant or creative, it's not my style, _Billy protested from within. Oh, _that_ was it. His scarlet letter was the imaginary voice inside his brain. _You don't kill people._

"Yes I do," Barney responded aloud, rolling his eyes as if it was that obvious all along. His eye roll was unfortunately followed by a conditioned blink. As he squeezed his eyes shut Barney wondered how that trait had suddenly become un-extinct. He cursed himself a little for giving so easily in to his old habit.

_You're slipping,_ Billy's voice taunted, _I think you're slipping. _

Barney opened his mouth to yell right back but wasn't given the chance.

"Billy?" a confused voice inquired. Barney's heart-rate increased tenfold. He knew that voice, that soft, earthy, tentative, wonderful voice. Instead of freezing solid Barney's body did the exact opposite of what he expected and immediately turned to confront the girl standing just outside Butterfield's office.

"What are you doing?" Penny asked. Barney surveyed his hallucination. Penny looked…remarkable in her green sweater, eating her cup of frozen yogurt as her auburn hair fell gracefully over her shoulders. Her spork hovered just before her mouth, a glob of yogurt melting on the plastic tool. She eyed Barney curiously, expecting the truth she was far too innocent to be allowed to know.

"Nothing!" he responded like a hormonal teenager, "Just taking care of some business," he reached down to grab Butterfield by the shoulders once more in an effort to divert his gaze away from Penny, "why do you care? You're not real!" maybe if he said that aloud she would simply disappear. Or not.

"Just seems wrong that's all," Penny shrugged, sliding the spork into her mouth. The disappointment in her voice was evident.

"Yeah well, I'm evil," Barney snapped without hesitation, "'_wrong_' is sort of what I do!"

"That's not what I meant," Penny solemnly sighed. She swirled her spork around and around in her yogurt cup, as if the action would keep her eyes from spying on Barney in the same why he used Clark to avoid her, "it's just not like you…"

_Sliiiip-pingggg, _Billy reminded.

"You don't know me!" Barney grunted defensively.

"No, I guess not, _Barney_," Penny huffed, stabbing her spork into her clearly melted dessert. It made him wince, the harsh tone she used.

"Yeah, well, now that we've got that cleared up, scram!" he wasn't about to let her think she had wounded him.

Penny said nothing. Billy mumbled something incoherent. Barney kept dragging the body across office carpet, careful not to tear off either of Butterfield's shoes. Penny wasn't gone though. Barney could see her out of the corner of his eye just standing there, watching him struggle to dispose of his garbage. She kept giving him that same look: pity, mixed with disappointment and disapproval and of course her signature innocence. It gnawed at Barney's already fraying nerves. Why couldn't see just leave?! She wasn't real! She was just a figment of his imagination so why couldn't he make her go away?!

_Everything's slipping away…_ Billy sang low. What? Did that include his sanity too?!

"What?!" Barney shouted directly at Penny. He dropped Butterfield with a heavy 'thunk'.

Again Penny shrugged, taking a spoonful of liquid yogurt before matter-of-factly answering, "I think you're making a bad decision."

"Well you don't get to influence my decisions!" Barney screamed. He pointed a thumb at his chest and had to retrain himself from leaping over Clark's body to shout in Penny's face. Anger, this wasn't numb. He was losing control, "You're—" Barney wanted to yell at her some more but his throat simply wouldn't permit one word from escaping, "you're _gone," _he said softer, almost deflated. He blinked then. One, two, three more times his lids flapped senselessly.

Penny said nothing. She simply stared, eyebrows raised in mild shock at his outburst.

Barney needed to regain his composure, show her he wasn't pathetic 'Billy Buddy' anymore. He smoothed his jacket, "The Barnacle flies solo."

"That's a mixed metaphor," Penny interjected lightly but Barney ignored her.

"He makes his own decisions!" he finished with a quick cock of his head to the side.

"Except for when the League tells you what to do?" it was Penny's turn to be angry, she scrapped her spork against the insides of the Styrofoam cup, "like when they told you to stop talking to Moist?"

"They had their reasons," Barney defended the decision he hated.

"Or that you could only work on specific pre-approved assignments?" the doctor attempted to defend himself once more, raising a bold finger but was yet again shut down before being able to speak, "or when they told you to abandon me?"

"That's different," Barney said slowly, "you were already…" he still couldn't force the word from his mouth, "gone."

"Or kill an innocent man?" Penny pointed her utensil at Butterfield's body in disgust and sighed, "The League's been telling you to do a lot of things lately." She said softer.

_Yes they have,_ added Billy, _and you've obediently followed orders, but killing? Isn't that how you lost Penny? I'd give anything not to have Penny see me like this…_

Barney couldn't take it anymore. The tag-team duo his warped mind created would whittle him down to nothing if he let them keep this up, "Why can't you just leave me alone?" his voice held no anger or trace of inflated ego, "the both of you, shut up."

"Billy," Penny reached out to him and he yanked away.

"You're…" the doctor gulped, swallowing the enormous lump that blockaded his throat. He couldn't say it, not looking at her like that. He averted his blues from her lovely green, "dead."

"Keep telling yourself that," Penny whispered. Barney glanced up, but it was too late. She was gone. Even after he had gotten what he wanted the scientist kept searching, turning every which way for a better view of the hall, hoping Penny would somehow be standing there again. He tripped over Butterfield once and realized that was it, she really was gone. But Barney still didn't budge. He lingered there, unwilling to admit he already missed her, thinking that any moment Billy would speak up to berate him. He didn't. Nothing happened.

Barney ran a shaky hand over his hair. It was good they didn't come back. He didn't have time for idle chit-chat. There was work to be done.

* * *

Author's Notes:

1. I'm going on vacation soon for a week, so if I stop updating abruptly for eight days don't panic.

2. I'm really glad everybody is enjoying this. You're reviews are awesome, and no, I haven't forgotten about Ted or Robin or Marshall. Trust me ;).

3. Okay, so, Beth (sigh) the email I tried sending you failed so here's the basics of it. You're awesome. Thanks so much for leaving me that stellar review, I really appreciate it and thanks a bunch for recommending this story to your friends. Pass on my thanks to them for the kind words as well. My goal is to entertain the readers, all of you, so I am once again saying how happy that review made me! Thanks again.

And thanks to everybody who has reviewed or shown any form of love to this story. I appreciate it. You guys rock. =)


	11. A Man's Gotta Do

Chapter 10: A Man's Gotta Do

"Barney!" Marshall Eriksen called to his friend the moment the elevator doors slid open to reveal the exhausted man. Barney moaned. He'd forgotten his promise to meet Marshall after lunch. The blond man stepped from the elevator with practiced grace, keeping his hands buried in his pockets.

"Hey, Marshall, what's up?" Barney thrust a mini nod in the lawyer's direction, keeping his tone casual. As Eriksen grew closer Barney could make out the sweat marks fading from his shirt.

"Where were you all day, man?" Marshall panted.

Barney removed a manicured hand from his pocket and snapped his fingers, "Lunch!" he hissed, "I'm sorry, I got swamped in a meeting, yada yada."

"And you still didn't hear?"

Barney paused, arm hanging paralyzed in the air. Hear what? If Marshall wasn't peeved about him missing their 'conference call' then what could Barney possibly have heard to override that? "Hear what?" Stinson asked unaware that his voice had swelled an octave.

"I saw somebody break into Butterfield's office today!" the taller man exclaimed like a child tattling on his brother for eating worms in the backyard. Barney's equilibrium ceased function the moment Marshall spoke. He was forced to steady himself with a palm against the nearest wall to keep from collapsing.

"W-what?"

"Yeah, well, at least I _thought_ I did," Marshall shrugged, his enthusiasm dimming.

"You…_what_?" Barney supposed he should feel the slightest ping of relief, but the confusion was overpowering by this point.

"Oh, yeah," the taller man realized his tale needed a bit more explanation, "I went into your office to drop off some Executive Mischief Consultant Comeback Prank Ideas," Marshall winked, and Barney did his best to half-heartedly smile and nod (his hand was still plastered the wall keeping him afloat), "and I couldn't resist taking a peek back into Butterfield's office," damn it! Barney knew he should have closed those blinds earlier! "And I totally thought I saw somebody with this _big gun_," Eriksen made a point of demonstrating the gun's exaggerated size with his wingspan, "in Butterfield's office! I couldn't see much but I thought the guy shot him or was there to rob the place or something."

"Did you see who it was?" Barney's voice trembled with caution. He could feel the beads of sweat hovering across his brow.

"No," Stinson exhaled the breath he didn't know he was holding until that moment, "I did call the cops though," and said breath instantly locked inside his throat once more. Barney gulped, trying to swallow the lump of air and form words in his mouth but it was becoming exceedingly difficult to perform even the simplest tasks. Like speaking or breathing. Barney was thankful he didn't have to consciously control his own heartbeat.

"Funny thing," Marshall carried on, oblivious to his friend's trauma, "they showed up and all, and went to 'investigate' the building or whatever it is they do, and said everything was fine."

"Huh?" Barney's mouth had grown dry.

"Yeah, couldn't find a single problem," Marshall huffed then lowered his voice as he leaned closer to his companion, "I think Butterfield is going for two pranks in one day, cause now that I think about it, it would be sort of ridiculous for somebody to break into the building and make it all the way upstairs unnoticed just to shoot _Butterfield_. Still hasn't opened his blinds back up though. He's trying drive us off course, make us go a little crazy so he can claim his victory. Well, Marshall Eriksen and Barney Stinson aren't gonna give up that easily, now are we?"

Marshall patted—no, slapped was more like it—Barney's right shoulder blade. The shorter man shook like a leaf from the force of the impact. He wanted nothing more than to give into his burning urge to faint right there on the spot.

"I'll admit he got me, for a minute, but that's kind of a weird stunt don't you think?" Barney nodded, grumbling a small 'yeah' with his quivering jaw, "talk about overkill."

Barney choked on his own saliva. But before Marshall could give him another grizzly pat on the back Billson rounded the corner, his eyes pinned to the blond in the pin striped suit.

"Stinson!" Barney Stinson's posture straightened, "TJ wants to see you in his office, _now_," was all Billson said as he passed by, death glare burning a hole in Barney's suit.

"Hey, where were after lunch again?" Eriksen inquired as if he hadn't heard before.

"Marshall, sorry, I have to go," Barney hastily regained his balance, ignored the question and planted a quick pat on the lawyer's back as a sign of goodbye. He was thankful to escape Marshall's chattering, until he deduced that whatever Fake Thomas Jefferson had in store for him would be much worse.

"That's okay, I'll walk with."

The blond man rubbed a hand over his brow, "ooooofffffff course you would," he replied in a low voice.

"So where'd you say you were?" the tall man asked innocently enough.

"Swamped in a meeting," Stinson grumbled, keeping his gaze straight ahead as the two walked briskly through the narrow halls.

"Oh man, you should have texted or something. I wanted to see if you wanted to try this new frozen yogurt place a few blocks away," Marshall whined into Barney's ear. The later couldn't help but wonder when Marshall had the time to worry about frozen yogurt amidst his busy day of 911 calls and childish pranks.

Wait. Frozen yogurt?

"Frozen yogurt?" the words somersaulted out of Barney's mouth.

"Yeah, you know how Lily's lactose intolerant and I'd figured we'd have time," Barney did his best to keep his shoulders from tightening as his friend spoke, "hey!" Marshall's eyes lit up, "seems like we've both had a lousy day," he had no idea, "wanna stop by on the way home?"

"No," Barney answered stiffly.

"What? Why not?"

"I…I don't eat frozen yogurt," the blinking had infected his eyes again.

"How do you _not _eat frozen yogurt?" the lawyer's tone sounded ready for a debate, "everybody loves frozen yogurt!"

"Not me," Barney hissed through gritted teeth.

"Seriously, c'mon have you even tried it?" Marshall took his friend's lack of response as a 'no', "how do you know if you haven't even tried it?!"

Barney halted, "I. Don't. Eat. Frozen. Yogurt," after every syllable he balled his hands into taut fists.

"Whoa, okay man," his friend sensed Stinson's discomfort—and borderline rage—and backed off, throwing his palms up in the universal surrender symbol, "chill."

The blond man uncurled a fist in order to wind his fingers around the knob of the vast set of oak doors before him, "I'll see you when I'm done," he said sourly, not looking back as his companion departed.

* * *

"Marshall Eriksen," Fake Thomas Jefferson announced. His back was to Barney as the blond man entered the rounded room.

"Uh, actually, _Barney Stinson_, Sir," Barney corrected. TJ spun on his heels to face his fellow villain.

"Dr. Horrible," Jefferson said sliding down into his antique chair.

"Or that works too…"

"What have you to report for me?" TJ said toying with one of his quills.

Dr. Horrible gingerly took a step forward, easing his back off the heavy oak doors, "Johnny Snow is taken care of, Sir."

Jefferson chuckled, but not a friendly 'hey that was a good joke' chuckle, a menacing, mocking, presidentially evil chuckle, "I should hope so, after all the commotion you caused, Dr. Horrible," the politician pointed the feathery end of his quill in the doctor's direction accusingly.

The scientist tried playing dumb, "Me, Sir?"

"Yes, you!" Fake Thomas Jefferson rose from his seat with such force he knocked over a bottle of ink. Dr. Horrible took a shy step back as the black liquid went unnoticed by TJ while it pooled all over his desk, "_Marshall Eriksen_ saw _you_ in Snow's building 'taking care' of the situation! Has no one ever taught you the importance of being discreet, _Doctor?!_"

Dr. Horrible attempted to interject to no avail.

"How do you expect our evil operations to run smoothly if you keep _bumping_ into television reporters," oh no, he'd heard about that? "And _killing_," the doctor flinched at this word, "your nemesis in broad daylight for all the world to see?!"

"He's not my nemesis…"

"Your _friend_ attempted to call the police this afternoon, though I'm sure he's already filled you in on that. We had to intercept the call! I, personally, had to contact the Pillage People," a group of aptly named henchman known their disguises, "and send them out to handle the Marshall Eriksen situation! Do you know their prices have skyrocketed, Dr. Horrible?!"

He shook his head.

Jefferson flopped back into his seat—still ignoring the ink—and growled, "Marshall Eriksen has seen too much. Take care of him."

The doctor gulped, "Of Marshall?"

"Are you deaf or just stupid, Doctor?" TJ waved his dismissive hand but Dr. Horrible did not comply.

"But, Sir, he hasn't _actually_ seen a thing! I talked to him myself, he knows nothing! Marshall Eriksen is no threat at all," the scientist pleaded with his superior, "it's not fair…"

"Fair is fair and _you_ are evil. Either you take care of Marshall Eriksen yourself, or _I will_," Fake Thomas Jefferson's threat was a promise.

"Yes, Sir."

* * *

Barney rested his back against the cold bathroom wall. He had retreated to this empty and leaky sanctuary after his meeting with Jefferson to throw water on his face and lick his wounds. Kill Marshall? That wasn't right. Marshall didn't deserve to die because Barney screwed up. Sure, Dr. Horrible was evil but honestly what sense is there in killing innocent people? It's just a waste of resources if you asked him.

And to top it off, if he didn't 'take care of it' Fake Thomas Jefferson would. That simply wasn't an option. TJ was a villain known for his merciful nature about as much as Bad Horse was. One seldom met the villain with the strength of five men—or three slaves if one counted that way—and lived to tell the tale. He 'taking care' of Marshall meant 'taking care' of his loved ones as well. Lily would be in danger, and Robin and Ted and probably Marshall's brothers and parents back home in Minnesota too. That was just ridiculous. Barney couldn't let that happen to his friends.

So really, he didn't have any choice in the matter.

_So you think justice has a voice, _Billy solemnly added his thoughts to the table.

Barney's back had begun to slide down the slick wall—he didn't even care about his suit—so he grabbed the edge of the sink and hoisted himself back up. Billy was right, he admitted silently. Barney locked eyes with his formerly toy laser tag gun now resting peacefully upon the wet countertop. He had somehow mindlessly retrieved it from his office in route to the bathroom.

"_And we all have a choice…_" the noise that suddenly echoed throughout the tile room sounded so foreign. Barney raised his head to stare at his own reflection in the mirror. Only it wasn't finely dressed laser tag champion awesome pick-up artist Barney who stared back. For a moment Billy's face occupied the glass with his depression and slumped figure and dark circles surrounding his sad little eyes.

"_Now your world is mine," _Barney taunted the reflection just to remind both halves who was really in control. He glared his most twisted evil glare, just for good measure, too. Then he picked up his gun and turned his back on the ordinary mirror. He couldn't bear to watch himself blink like that anymore. Barney slipped his gun into the back of his waistband, hidden beneath his suit jacket.

_What are you going to do?_ Billy asked from within.

"_A man's gotta do what a—_NO! No singing!" Barney shrieked as recognized the foreign sound as his own voice. He kicked the floor, "No, no, no, no more singing!"

Billy laughed a little; he _actually_ had the gall to laugh, _slipping, _he whispered.

"Barney?" Marshall Eriksen burst through the bathroom door, "you in here?"

"Yeah," Barney coughed a little, clearing any trace of a spontaneous musical number from his windpipe, "ahem, yes!" he straightened his tie.

"You alright man?"

"Just peachy, Marshall," Barney gave him a wide grin; silently praying his ability to snap right back into place was still secure. He draped an arm over his friend's shoulders—or at least tried to, Marshall's height made the action a bit difficult, "You know what, Eriksen, I've changed my mind," Barney's eyelids fluttered in several heavy, rapid blinks, "let's go get that frozen yogurt."

* * *

Robin Scherbatsky dialed his number by heart as she slid into the backseat of the yellow taxi. She bounced with anxious excitement as she gave the driver her friend's address and told him to step on it. It's not like this was a matter of life or death, but Robin didn't think she could contain the information she discovered for a second longer.

"Robin?" Ted Mosby answered his phone as if he hadn't been expecting Robin's call.

"Hey Ted," the journalist tittered, "are you home _yet_?"

On the other end Mosby sighed, "Yes. I _finally_ am."

"Good, cause I'm on my way over," Robin skillfully balanced her laptop across her knees as the cab took a sharp turn.

"What the heck _is_ this 'oh so awesome' discovery you've texted me about all day?" Ted asked, partially laughing partially agitated.

Scherbatsky smirked, "I can't tell you, I have to show you."

"I'm not sure I like the sound of that…" the architect replied warily. Robin chuckled a little to herself before remembering to ask:

"Are Marshall and Lily home yet?"

"No, Lily had a parent teacher meeting for that kid in her class who keeps eating glue," Robin made a slight 'ew' noise as Ted continued, "And I think both Marshall and Barney are working late. Something weird happened at work, I don't know. He called to leave a message for me and Lily earlier. You wanna wait for them?"

"NO!" Robin panicked the tiniest bit. She wasn't about to let Barney in on the discovery. It would probably be best if she just showed Ted anyway, "No, no, no," she recovered, "I can't wait any longer. I'll see you soon."

"Okkaaayyy," Ted sounded suspicious.

"Bye!" Robin said quickly, snapping her cell phone shut.

* * *

"No, no way, I'm not going through there!" Marshall Eriksen protested as his friend argued the effectiveness of this short cut to their Frozen Yogurt Factory destination, "have you ever even heard of the possibilities of getting mugged?"

"Marshall, please," Barney Stinson rolled his eyes, the gesture was followed by an uncontrollable, harsh blink, "not every alley in New York City is crawling with thieves and criminals! Trust me."

Barney was sure his voice quivered at the end of his sentence, but Marshall didn't seem to notice. The taller man simply kept up his protests against entering a dark seemingly abandoned alley at dusk even if it was a legitimate short cut. Barney knew his friend had a point, and never in a million years would _he_ readily suggest such a path if he didn't absolutely _need_ Marshall to be in that alleyway. People get mugged in dark alleys all the time don't they? He rubbed his eyes to keep them from twitching farther.

_You're falling apart at the seams, _said Billy, _don't go through with this. He has to know something is up._

Barney stole a glance at Marshall still blabbering on. He doesn't suspect a thing. Billy was just making excuses. But…Billy did have a point, _again_. Barney Stinson wasn't exactly acting like his usual self lately. Sowhy hasn't Marshall noticed? Why wasn't anybody noticing? Last night, all afternoon, no suspicions? Why couldn't they see what he saw when he looked in the mirror?

Somehow Marshall had finally placed his trust in Barney and stepped reluctantly into the alleyway. Barney couldn't even remember what he had said to warrant such trust. It was lie, whatever it was. Could Marshall not hear the lies in his voice to save his own life?

_Maybe the fee's to pricy for them to realize, your disguise…_

"Shut up," Barney growled to Billy.

"What?"

"Nothing," Stinson scrunched up his shoulders, his eye lids out of his control.

"Is something wrong with your eye, man?" Marshall asked.

"Nothing…just…dust…"

"Are you okay?"

"Certainly, why would you ask, heh?"

"Because," Marshall folded his arms across his chest in a very lawyer-esc fashion, "you've been acting strange all day. First this morning when you freaked on Butterfield—you know for a second I almost thought it was _you_ going postal and pranking _Butterfield_ this afternoon—then you blow me off all afternoon, first you hate frozen yogurt, now you wanna try it, you've 'got dust in your eyes'," Marshall made quotation marks in the air as he turned his back on his friend to continue his walk forward. Now was it, the perfect time to uncoil and strike, fangs bared and poisonous.

_It's gonna be bloody, _"head up Billy Buddy."

"And you haven't made single disgusting remark about any of the women we've passed on the street thus far!"

_There's no time for mercy…_

"I'm just worried about you, man."

_Here goes no mercy…_

"I'm sorry, Marshall," Barney quietly apologized to his friend for what he was about to do.

"Wha—" Marshall's breath caught in his throat when the nearly silent shot of Dr. Horrible's laser gun penetrated his back and ripped through the lawyer's chest. Blood oozed from both sides of the wound. Marshall dropped to his knees, stunned, and fell over onto his chest within seconds. Barney swallowed the guilty lump in his neck as he watched the blood pool beneath Marshall Eriksen's body.

"A man's gotta do…" he justified.

* * *

Author's Note: So this will be my last update before my vacation, I hope you enjoyed it! Also I hope nobody is too angry with me for what I've done either, heh… Anywho I'll be back in about ten days. Happy New Year everybody!


	12. This Appeared as A Moral Dilemma

Author's Note: Hey there everybody I'm back, and pumped for more writing after a magical week in the happiest place on earth! Although I only have a tiny chapter for you tonight, just enough for me to get back on my feet, you can expect more in the near future. Thanks for the reviews and alerts and favoriting (I don't think that's a word) while I was gone, always appreciated. Um, sadly, what is not appreciated was a few of the comments I received of reader's reactions to what I did to Marshall…or at least one comment that included a death threat... Now, whether that was meant to be delivered as a joke or not I'm still not happy about it, actually, I'm [expletive deleted] pissed about it. Chill the [expletive deleted] out. If I read anything like that again in my reviews page whoever leaves such a comment will be reported. Don't mean to sound like bitch but stuff like that is seriously not cool. Sigh. Sorry if that was a buzzkill. Enjoy the chap.

* * *

Chapter 11: This Appeared as A Moral Dilemma 

"A man's gotta do…" Barney justified. Then he swallowed another thick lump in his esophagus, tossed his laser gun into the nearest dumpster—he'd activate the homing beacon and have a henchmen swing by to pick it up later—and likewise fell to his knees, drenching his suit in Marshall's blood.

"Oh my _God,_ Marshall!" he screamed loud enough for passersby to hear. Barney grabbed Marshall by the shoulders and turned him over so his face wouldn't be covered in his own blood, "Somebody please!" he continued to shriek, "Help! My friend's been shot, help us!"

It didn't take long for the blond man's frantic cries to reach pitying ears. Not everyone in New York was jaded and heartless. "Oh God, Marshall, hang in there!" Barney cried, making sure to lean far enough over the larger man's chest to absorb some crimson fluid on his crisp white shirt. It would look better if he was covered in blood too.

"What happened?" a middle-aged woman was suddenly kneeling opposite Barney at the lawyer's side.

"H-he's been shot," Stinson purposely choked out a stutter as he watched his friend's brown eyes roll like marbles in his sockets.

"Oh my God…" the woman whispered, digging into her purse for her cell phone.

"Please, please, help him," Barney begged, "Call 911, please!" His vision blurred slightly as his own crystal blues began to overflow with water.

"I am, I am!" the frightened woman shot back, her hands fumbling with the electronic devise. Barney glanced up; others had begun to encircle the injured man and his hysteric friend.

"Holy shit, what happened?" a guy in jogging sweats asked as he too knelt beside the duo. Below him Barney heard the blood gargling in Marshall's throat. The man in jogging sweats tilted the lawyer's chin to the side, allowing the liquid to drip from Erikson's mouth. Jogging Sweats didn't even notice Barney's lack of effort to save his friend's life, or maybe the stranger was just chalking it up to shock. He nudged Stinson aside and removed his sweatshirt hastily, yet carefully, to wrap the cloth around Marshall's chest in order to slow the bleeding. What was this guy, an EMT?

"Oh, God, he came out of nowhere!" The blond man ran a bloody hand through his hair for effect, he heard the woman who arrived first rapidly giving the cross streets of their location to emergency services on the other end of her cell, "he…he had a gun and …and _oh God_, he shot Marshall when we wouldn't give him any money! AArrggh!" Barney yelled, the angry noise was all part of the act…mostly, "why didn't you just give it to him Marshall? Why be the hero?"

"B-barn…" Marshall's voice was weak as his swirling eyes met Barney's. He spat little droplets of blood from his mouth more than actual words, but still, his eyebrows furrowed, "Barn…you…"

Barney placed two fingers across his pal's lips, "Shhh, don't speak Marshall, save your breath!" the intentional crack in his voice was a nice addition to his performance, "help is on the way, my good man, help is on the way!"

Barney's eye twitched as he watched jogging sweats take his barely conscious friend's pulse and continued to apply pressure to his wounds. Marshall was losing consciousness. Sweats yelled some things and more people flocked to Marshall's aide, knocking Barney back as they all tried to help what may be a lost cause. The blond man watched, a bit detached, as another guy—another stranger—sacrificed his jacket to soak up Marshall's blood. Did the doctor really just stubble into a hotspot of good Samaritans? Was he ever that lucky? Stinson willed the bleeding to stop faster, or for the ambulance to at least get there sooner. Barney had done what he had to do, and _he _couldn't do anything else to counteract his deed; for Lily's sake at the very least. Duty, however, still didn't make it fair.

"Hang in there, Marshall," Barney whispered, this time for real.

* * *

"No! Ted!"

Before either could unleash a string of unpleasant words the apartment phone rang. Ted plucked it from across the table without saying anything first to Robin, hoping to avoid further argument.

"Hello?" he answered. Robin watched as his eyes light up, "Lily? Lily, whoa, wait a second slow down!" Robin froze, recognizing the panic in Lily carried via phone line through Ted, "What?!" he gasped, his tone became frantic, "What happened…no…of course…holy crap, is he?... Robin is here. Where are you? Lily… Lily, where are you? Okay. Okay… Just Calm down Lily we'll be right over, alright?... I promise, you just hang in there okay?... We'll be right there, Lily!" a brief pause, "we'll see you soon."

"What the Hell happened?" Robin asked after Ted ended the call. All the tension created by their previous conversation had dissolved. The color had drained from Ted's face and his fingers trembled as he returned the phone to its charger. The journalist could feel her own fear rising via lump in her throat.

"Marshall is in the emergency room…he's been shot…"


	13. Look at my Wrist, I Gotta Go…

Chapter 12: Look at my Wrist, I Gotta Go…

A pair of brown eyes fluttered softly. A lazy groan escaped the throat of the body belonging to the eyes. The brain belonging to the body attempted organized movement, but failed. The world was a hazy, heavy place at the moment, and the patient in the Intensive Care Unit Bed Sixteen probably had the combination of a through and through gunshot wound, hours of surgery, and what felt like gallons of morphine to thank for that.

The man in Bed Sixteen tried once more to open his eyes. As he did he became vaguely aware of the other presences occupying the stark white room.

"Marshall?" Lily Aldrin softly greeted her fiancé when Marshall Eriksen's brain finally succeeded in its eye-opening goal. The light bouncing off the pale walls was harsh and stung his pupils a little. If he squinted he could focus on the blurred figure of the woman seated next to his bed squeezing his hand with all her might.

Behind her stood Ted and Robin, concerned stares plastered onto each of their faces. Ted said something to his best friend, something that was meant to be comforting and reassuring Marshall was sure, but unfortunately the drugs kept his brain from fully processing it.

"Oh, Marshmellow!" exclaimed the woman he loved, lunging her entire tiny body against Marshall's chest.

Marshall released a loud "oomph" of pain and Lily immediately retreated. She cursed herself momentarily for forgetting about her fiance's injury. Marshall, however, cared little about the quiet ache in his chest in his fuzzy state. He was happy; happy to see Lily smiling— even if her mascara stained cheeks did make her look a little like Alice Cooper. Upon realizing this Marshall laughed, or at least tried to. Instead he let out an amused groan that was soon overlapped by a painful moan as the ache swept over his chest once more.

"Oh, Marshall," Lily said softer this time, cupping his chin in her palm. She smiled widely as she parroted what the doctors had told her pertaining to Marshall's fate: he would be just fine. Eventually.

* * *

From where Barney Stinson stood in the hospital hallway he had a clear view of the Intensive Care Unit's Bed Number Sixteen and all the room's occupants. None in the room, however, bothered to glance out the tiny glass panel in the door to catch a glimpse of him. They didn't know he was there…still. Barney rode along with Marshall in the ambulance and was given a thorough check up upon entering the building but he was quickly determined to be in perfect health and was dismissed. He never left.

Barney watched from different hiding spots as Lily came rushing into the waiting room, sobbing her eyes out and begging the nurses to tell her what happened to Marshall. The sight made him cringe. He hated to see Lily cry like that and had to resist the instinct to jump out from behind the ficus and give his friend a much needed hug. Of course he didn't. He couldn't bring himself to face the second woman whose life he could so easily have destroyed. He doubted his ability to face any of them—his friends—again, which was his primary reason for remaining hidden as Ted and Robin appeared in the waiting room to accompany the weeping Lily.

Barney thought it kind of funny, as he spied on his friends, that none of the other nurses had bothered stop and ask him what he was up to since his official dismissal. He was, after all, still covered head to toe in another man's blood. The sticky substance had turned an ugly brown as it dried on his clothing, and although he made a point to wash what he could from his skin in the restroom he could still feel the occasional flake crack as moved. It was a constant reminder of how he could have—and according to the league _should_ have—killed his friend. Barney ground his teeth together. Marshall was alive, which was ultimately a good thing but the doctor was sure he was going to receive a decent amount of hell for that.

"You're not going to go in there?" a tentative voice asked from over Barney's shoulder. He groaned inwardly as he pivoted his body just enough to face the owner of the familiar voice.

Penny stared disapprovingly at her once friend from behind the nurse's station, "it's the least you could do. He is your friend, and you did _shoot_ him."

"I can't," Barney confessed. He almost wasn't surprised to hear his own voice sound so close to that of a wounded animal caught in a hunter's trap.

Penny simply shrugged, "Of course you won't;_ I_ more than anyone should know how you treat your friends."

Barney grimaced. That hurt. He turned his attention back to the rejoicing foursome in room sixteen. He wanted to ignore Penny, but he could still feel her eyes piercing the back of his skull. How was that even possible? Barney rubbed a sweaty palm over his rapidly blinking eyelids. He should go. Fake Thomas Jefferson is probably expecting him…and he had _a lot _of explaining to do.

"First you kill us," Penny spoke harshly into his ear, "and then…well…" and that was all it took to send the mad doctor scampering down the hall for the nearest elevator.

"No… I didn't," he tried to mumble, "I didn't mean to…he…" the scientist had tried over and over a thousand times to blame Captain Hammer for what happened to her. But somehow his over analytical mind always managed to remember certain variables better left forgotten. What was once Hammer + Idiocy2 = Malfunction, always evolved into Hammer + Idiocy2 (insufficient planning/caution(time-monologue+ hesitation))= you-self-loathing-moronic-stupid-idiot-you-can't-boil-what-you-did-to-her-down-to-an-equation!

Barney passed another Penny on his journey, this one collecting charts, "Then we all just become your little science projects don't we…"

"No…" Barney whined, desperately willing a chance to escape his taunting mind, "I didn't mean to…"

His pace quickened. The busy doctors and nurses and patients became a colorful blur as he nearly sprinted down the hall. They were probably all staring at him, not that it mattered. He needed to get out there, to get away from her.

Whoever said it was better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all was wrong. It was far worse to love and to lose…and to lose again than anything else in the universe. Barney squirmed as he felt an icy claw tear into his chest and strangle his heart, cutting off the blood supply to the rest of his body. He grew lightheaded and his legs began to wobble without permission. That was part of the reason he couldn't do it. Not wobbly knees—love, Lily and Marshall's love. He knew what those two meant to each other. He observed them and teased them and secretly envied them. To let either lose the other would be pure torture. _That_ the doctor knew all too well.

He was only steps away from the elevator when its doors glided open. Barney skidded to a halt, narrowly avoiding collision with a wheelchair. The chair's occupant gazed up at him with pitying eyes.

"I don't want to hate you Billy Buddy…." She said.

He hated it when she said that.


	14. Balls

Chapter 13: Balls

Ted Mosby found her at the vending machines. They had both agreed to give Marshall and Lily some time alone—he thanked every deity in the known universe that Marshall was alright—but when he made a detour to the men's room he lost track of her. He then found Robin Scherbatsky standing immobile in front of the snack machine, staring blankly at her own reflection in the glass.

"I don't know how things work in Canada, but here you need money to get that bag of Cheetos," he commented, hoping to lighten her obviously dark mood.

"Where is he?" was all she said.

Ted didn't pretend not to know who she was referring to, "I don't—"

"Lily said he was with Marshall when it happened, that he rode with him in the ambulance so shouldn't he be here? Shouldn't he care that his friend almost _died?_"

The architect shrugged. It was all he could do when he didn't possess the answers to her questions, "you know Barney…" he grumbled, unsure what purpose that statement could possibly serve other than to fill the silent gap between them. `You know Barney`? What did that even mean? Not even scoring trumped bro-hood in Barney's book.

"No, I don't." Robin sternly replied, "None of us do."

"Robin, please don't start this again," Ted begged, suddenly feeling drained. He rubbed his forehead where an ache was beginning to form.

"What if…" Robin hesitated for a moment—still keeping her gaze locked on the snack dispenser before her—and bit down on her lower lip. She folded her arms tight over her chest, as if to brace herself from her own words, "What if he did it."

Ted jerked his hand from his face and his head snapped up to glare accusingly at Robin, "don't say that. You know that's not true." He felt like growling at her, and his fingers clenched in the sudden urge to hit something.

"No, I don't Ted," Robin's head finally turned to look him in the eyes, "and I can't shake this feeling that Barney is…is lying to us!"

Ted winced. Was that supposed to be a euphemism?

"It was _him _in that video, Ted. You saw it, you know it was!"

Ted Mosby shook his head in denial. 'It couldn't be' he wanted to say. That wasn't Barney. Robin didn't know Barney like Ted did, she didn't know what she was talking about. Barney would never…

Ted had never been inside of Barney's apartment. He didn't even know exactly where in the city his friend lived. Nobody knew what Barney Stinson did for a living, only that he made _a lot_ of money and never disclosed a single detail of his work to those closest to him. Ted didn't know why his brain suddenly chose now to think of this, and he wished it didn't. Unfortunately for Ted his brain kept on thinking.

Last Thanksgiving, when he and Robin found Barney volunteering at the homeless shelter, Ted refused to believe `The Barnacle` was capable of doing anything so…_good._ He remembered calling Barney `Satan` when the latter tried to say he `was doing the Lord's work`. Ted simply couldn't comprehend somebody as evil as Barney Stinson could ever do the world _any_ good. Now Ted was finding it hard to believe he was defending just the opposite scenario. Why, really _why_, was it so hard to believe that Barney was evil? Not just jackass evil, but _real _evil. It certainly made sense before the fate of humanity was made potentially at risk. Was Ted just in denial? Was he really so blind to the truth that a girl he'd only known for a few months saw because Barney was his friend; his irresponsible, twisted, perverted, idiotic, maniacal friend?

"I should give him a call…"

* * *

Barney silenced the vibrating phone in his pocket. He'd see who it was later. Now he had to focus on psyching himself up for his third meeting with Fake Thomas Jefferson in one day. The blond man inhaled deep. He was going to make this quick and painless, present TJ with the appropriate information and get the hell out of there before his mind decided it would be funny to play some more tricks on him. The entire cab ride back to the office Barney could have swore he saw her standing at every corner or sitting in every other taxi. A few times he thought he heard her voice singing to him over the radio. He thought she even wanted him to hold the elevator for her on the way up. He didn't.

Barney needed rest. He concluded that he was just tired, that's all. He was stressed and tired and all he needed was some sleep to make it all better. He needed to escape this day…and yesterday…and last night. Chills ran down the scientist's back as he remembered his dream. Maybe sleep wasn't the best idea; just rest and some time to think…alone. Barney groaned. _Alone._ That's something he wasn't going to be at home unless he finished taking care of that other little problem.

He exhaled. He told himself to stop hesitating and pushed through the door of Jefferson's oval office without so much as a knock first.

"It's done," he announced, striding into the office until he was at the foot of TJ's desk. He wondered if his superior noticed the slight quake in his voice.

"Marshall Eriksen is dead then?" Jefferson inquired. He wasn't facing his guest. He wasn't in his desk either. The faux president stood behind his throne with his back to the doctor, his gaze aimlessly trailing the city skyline visible from his window. Dr. Horrible's entrance hadn't made him flinch.

"Noooottt exactly," Barney squirmed, blinking, "the public interfered," he recovered before his boss could interrupt, "I had to play along. Protect the League. Not to worry, though, he's in critical condition and all that stands between him and the afterlife is a few drops of one of my concoctions into his morphine drip," he shrugged like it was no big deal to be discussing his friend's demise, just another ordinary conversation on a day in the life of evil, "I can handle that."

He wouldn't, obviously. He hadn't exactly thought out a way to skate around this one yet but he would…somehow.

Jefferson nodded. He was pleased. That was a good sign. The doctor sighed a little in relief.

"Dr. Horrible," the villain proclaimed, "here in my hands I hold your next assignment." Fake Thomas Jefferson waved a canister—its contents no doubt heinous—over his head. Barney noted that he sounded extremely please. Maybe a little _too _pleased.

"Whaa—"

"Plans!" Jefferson twirled to face his fellow villain, an evil smirk gracing his lips, "Part of the Ultimate Plan!"

Dr. Horrible had never heard of this `Ultimate Plan`. Why had he not been included in this plan until now? Was it new? He opted not to try and ask any more questions on the subject. He recognized the look in Fake Thomas Jefferson's eyes; after all it had lived in the eyes of so many villains before him. Fake Thomas Jefferson was preparing to monologue.

"I've been conversing with Bad Horse," The ELE's second in command carried on as he began to pace behind his desk, "and the Leader has decided that it is time, Dr. Horrible. It is time to put the Evil League of Evil's Ultimate Plan into action, to reveal our true intentions to this sniveling scum filled society. It is the League's turn to rise up and give the world a taste of our most villainess ideals," he pointed to the doctor, "and inventions. We need you, Doctor. No one among our ranks but you has the brains, the abilities to build this most necessary tool for executing our most crucial plan in determining humanity's fate!"

Dr. Horrible felt the blush creep into his cheeks. They needed him? _They _needed _him? _ This was…brilliant! Finally, _finally_ they respected him, saw his true worth! A tiny flutter of joy bounced around inside the evil doctor's ribcage. This was it. This is what he had been waiting for the past six years—no, all of his life! New world order, reform, a semi-hostile takeover (though at the same time avoiding all unnecessary violence) that would change the world! He was finally being given his chance to make the earth a better place! This was it!!!

"Be careful with these, Doctor," Barney nodded, hardly able to contain himself, "the League went through a lot of trouble to secure these, and as I have said: these plans are of the utmost importance."

Jefferson handed the canister over to Dr. Horrible, who in turn tore the lid off the cylinder like a child on Christmas to peer inside. He reached a shaky hand down. Barney could feel the fragileness of the parchment with his fingertips, and gingerly pulled the pages from their prison. He unrolled them with equal carefulness, wanting to preserve the aging paper. He could feel the smirk TJ wore as his eyes traveled the first page.

Dr. Horrible's jaw clenched, "Sir…these…these look like the original plans for the…" the young genius's eyes searched the page for a fellow brainiac's signature, "the Hydrogen Bomb…"

"Precisely!" Jefferson joylessly responded.

"You…you want me to build the Hydrogen Bomb?" Barney's tone was filled with skepticism as his superior beamed, "the same bomb Truman dropped on—"

"Yes, yes of course!" TJ happily chuckled and withdrew a map from under his desk, "and we're going to drop it tenfold!" he exclaimed, smoothing out the carefully marked Evil League of Evil Official Strike Map, "here, here, here," London, Cairo, Moscow, "here, here, here," Rio, Toronto, Sydney, Paris, Beijing, Tokyo, Mexico City, Rome, Bangkok, Berlin, Los Angles, Chicago, New York… New York? The list seemed endless, "wipe them out. All of them."

The doctor shuddered, "that…that seems a bit counterproductive…Sir…"

"What?"

"Well, what about the reform?" Barney's fingers trembled, "if we blow everything up," oh God, the image just popped into his brain, he wanted to hurl, "Then there'll be nothing left to—"

"Exactly, Doctor!" Jefferson did that chuckle again, "this was Bad Horse's masterful plan all along, isn't it brilliant?! Humanity can't be saved or changed, reform is useless! There is no _**hope**_for them! So we strike them where it hurts, three dozen major cities around the globe, allow the bombs to kill everything in sight—you can tweak them to be more destructive for your own pleasure if you'd like—and leave the humans to suffer and rot and reflect on the atrocities they committed that lead them to this fate in their final days! It's perfect!"

It changes nothing.

"That's…that's also… suicide…"

"Sacrifices must be made to bring about the end of humanity, Doctor," Jefferson answered matter-of-factly. Barney didn't think that made any sense. Nothing about this plan made any sense. Kill everyone? Kill _everything_? And this wouldn't be the League destroying all of humanity. This would be _him. _Dr. Horrible's lab coat would be stained with the blood of six billion people if he built those bombs.

"What do you think, Doctor?" Fake Thomas Jefferson asked. His voice was smothered in pride. For the first time Barney realized just what a kiss ass to Bad Horse the man before him had become, and for a moment briefly pondered what sort of man Fake Thomas Jefferson was like before he started impersonating deceased politicians in the name of Evil.

"This is… awfffssome," Barney's eye twitched.

TJ grinned, "Bad Horse knew you would agree. Now I understand it will take you some months to complete your assignment, Dr. Horrible, so I suggest you get started as soon as possible," was everybody else really that eager to end the world? "Don't bother to check in here every day anymore, Bad Horse and I both know how deep you like to dive into your work, and the sooner you complete this, the better. We wouldn't want to give you any unnecessary distractions. And trust us, Doctor, you will _not_ be distracted," ah the long awaited threat of obedience has finally arrived.

"Awffssome," the doctor replied again, barely able to control his words as he slide the plans back into their dark fortress—where they belonged, "just awfsome," the corner of his mouth turned up in a brief twitch as he delivered TJ one fleeting half smile of sarcasm.

_Who's the corporate tool now?_ Billy sneered from inside his head.

Barney twitched yet again, feeling the sting of Billy's verbal slap against his cheek.

This is not what…_ I know…_

…

Balls.


	15. Billy is My Name

Author's Note: Warning, this Chapter contains explicit language. Sorry, but the writer's adrenaline was pumping and my muse wouldn't have it any other way.

* * *

Chapter 14: Billy…is My Name

"Hey Barney, its Teeddd. Uh, just callin' to, you know, make sure nothing 'sinister' has happened to ya, ha haaa. Casual. Aaannyyyhow Marshall is out of surgery and seems to be doing a lot better…um…you know we'd all really like to see you here, but, you know, it's not like it's urgent or anything…just…casual. Like this phone call: caaaaasual. Ummm, so yeah, give me call as soon as you get this—or…what_ever_…uh…bye."

End of message.

Barney hit delete and cursed. Damn it. He knew. A 'casual' phone call from Ted is anything but. Ted knew. Ted knew, he knew, he knew, he knew, CRAP! This was bad. This was really bad. This was officially the second worst day in all of Barney (formally William) Stinson/ Dr. Horrible's life!

Ted knew? How could Ted know? How did he…Robin! Robin, yesterday, she _did _recognize him! He cursed himself again. She recognized him and she told Ted and…oh _God_, who else? Fake Thomas Jefferson knew he hit her, he said so himself. Did he also know that Robin and Barney knew each other personally? Was he aware that the ambitious journalist quite possibly recognized the doctor for the pathetic liar that he was? Would Robin turn him in? Was she, and the others, in danger? Was he putting them in danger?

Yes.

Oh no, no, no, no! This was wrong. This was all wrong. It wasn't supposed to be like this! Nothing was supposed to be like this! This wasn't the way he planned! Nothing was going to according to plan!

Barney swung his arm at the nearest object he could find in the sanctity of his office. The pen holder his hand collided with flew across the room, scattering its contents all over the carpet. Nobody heard. His floor was deserted for the night. The lights weren't even turned on anymore.

Plan? What plan? The plan from six—or was it seven—years ago? What was that?!

He vaguely remembered: Join the League, get the girl, change the world.

It seemed simple enough…_not!_

The League was a joke! They hated him, and he hated them. All of them, even Bad Horse…no, _especially_ Bad Horse! He hated them all from the very beginning, from the moment he was inducted into their secret organization. He was not respected, not appreciated and not welcomed. All they ever needed him for was their 'plan', their 'Ultimate Plan'. What crap!

Destroy the world? Were they insane?

Barney growled. He supposed he could answer that: yes, but only as insane as he was… and he was craziest of them all. He had to be, after all, to believe the League would be there to help Dr. Horrible usher in a new world order. He was a fool to believe the League cared anything about change or hope or making the world a _better_ place in the long run. They would disrupt the status quo alright, by blowing it up!

Blowing it up? Blowing it all up? What point did that make, to kill _everything?_ It was stupid and heinous and…and _low._ Dr. Horrible had once thought Bad Horse was better than that; Smarter, classier, more evilly creative than that. He thought wrong.

And the girl…Penny. Oh Penny. Why, why, _why_ Penny? Why the purest sign of good in this universe? Why her? Why did it have to be _her?_ Why did he have to fall in love with _her?!_

It was ineffable.

Penny was innocent. She didn't deserve Captain Hammer, yes, but Penny didn't deserve him either. He was evil, and there was no doubt of that. He killed her, didn't he? And what he did after…_Oh God_… it made him sick to think about that. She didn't deserve that either. That was stupid and risky and…and he didn't have a choice. How else could he have corrected such a wrong, such a grave mistake? He had to, he needed to do everything in his power to make things right!

Nothing would ever be right again. He just wasn't able to admit it, not until he at least _tried._ It didn't take long for him to figure it out, though. He had changed everything, and _not_ the way he wanted to, _not _the way he set out to. So what did the great Dr. Horrible do when he learned the truth, when it finally registered that he would _never_ get what he wanted, that there was no hope left for him? He gave up. He went _numb. _It seemed like the best decision since he could feel nothing but pain anymore anyhow.

Oh Penny. Now she was haunting him. It hadn't even been twenty-four hours since he spoke her name aloud and opened up these flood gates but it felt like she had been following him for an eternity. Her presence was everywhere; scolding him, mocking him, pitying him. He couldn't bear to see those sad eyes staring straight into his shallow soul another moment. He hated seeing her over his shoulder almost as much as he loved it. It was almost enough to make him regret…regret what, knowing her? No. Never. It was an honor and a privilege to know the last decent human being on the planet before he exterminated her. Killing her? Yes, that was something he most definitely regretted. Loving her? Yes and no. If he hadn't loved her none of this would have ever happened. She'd be alive, Dr. Horrible would never have made it into the Evil League of Evil and Captain Hammer would still have his punching bag back in LA. He wouldn't have tried to kill Hammer, or at least maybe he wouldn't have thought of it so quickly, if hadn't been jealous. That was the real reason for his attack on the hero: boiling cruel envious jealousy. No because…because if he hadn't loved her then he would have never of tried so hard to fix that incredible wrong he committed…

Oh, and the world? HA! The world was still a mess. Nobody changed it. Nobody even tried. War, poverty, hunger, murder, pollution, greed, corruption; all of it still existed. _All of it_. Everywhere he went people just kept insisting on doing terrible things. The homeless man on the street this morning, nobody bothered to help him. The overflowing trash, nobody even noticed. The girl in the Laundromat, who only needed a quarter, a measly twenty-five cents and _nobody_ could spare a single dime? The world is turmoil, and it gets sicker and sicker every day. Did no one else see it? Was it only Dr. Horrible who noticed how topsy turvy society is? Did no one else care that the system just isn't working and no amount of explosives can fix that?

_So why don't __**you**__ do something about it…_. Barney screamed, slamming his palms against his forehead.

"Leave me alone…" he pleaded to Billy's voice. Billy. How long had it been since he started referring to 'Billy' as a separate entity?

When he came to New York he was a failure. He was a rotten lying failure who retreated into the façade of Barney in some effort to escape his own self loathing. Barney would be everything that Billy wasn't. He'd be the real villain; the cheater, the liar, the drinker, the jackass, the pervert, the idiot, the prankster, the womanizer, the greedy, the superficial, the carefree, the slut. He thought it would make things easier. That it would make being with the League easier if he could simply bend himself to fit the puzzle better. He thought wrong again, and now he was stuck here, in this limbo between genius and insanity.

And now? What now? Kill all his friends one by one until none remained? Damn, he shouldn't even _have_ friends. It was an accident that he found them, really. He was bored, he was lonesome, he wanted to try that deaf brother bit and BAM! Barney Stinson, meet Ted Mosby. Ted…Ted was special, he guessed. Ted reminded him of Billy and the mad doctor liked that. What small bits of sanity in him that remained were already beginning to fray, and he now supposed that clinging to and living vicariously through Ted and Marshall was just another dive deeper into crazy.

He really was slipping.

_Seriously? _, Billy snapped, sounding insulted, _Are you really going to just sit there, wallowing in your own self pity, and wait for the League's permission to do anything for the rest of your awful life? Penny was a mistake. I fucked up. I tried to change it and I failed. I gave up. I chose to be numb and __**that**__was my second mistake. That is a mistake I __**can**__change, that I __**can **__fix. So why aren't I?_

"I—"

_Shut up, you don't get to talk anymore! The League is nothing but a room full of suicidal fools and cowards that don't deserve the title of Evil. The so called 'heroes' are still running this place into the ground. The League is not doing anything to change that, and they won't. Ever. So why wait for a bunch of hypocrites who will never have my back? Now it's my turn. It's Dr. Horrible's turn to change this place, to give Penny a reason to keep on hoping! The world—_

"—is a mess and I just need to rule it!!!"

He smacked his hand against the surface of his desk so hard it left his palm bright red, "I mean _come ooonnn_! If you want something done right, you just have to do it yourself," he sighed, "it's my turn," he affirmed, nodding to no one, "and I've got to do something about…_this_, all _this_; the League, my friends, the world. It is time for a change! A _real_ change and I'm gonna give it to them," he cocked his head to one side, "…some…how… F-for Penny…" the slightest twitch of a smile tugged at his lips, "It's what she deserves."

He grinned the tiniest bit at his epiphany. True he was thus far plan less and totally unaware of how he would achieve this new goal, but the goal itself was becoming clearer and clearer with every passing second. Suddenly he felt like an evil genius again, twisting around in his wheelie chair. It felt…familiar.

"_All that matters, is taking matters into your own hands…_" he sang quietly, attention still focused on the blank screen, as he loosened the crimson tie that still adorned his neck, "_soon I'll control everything—"_

Wait a second. The doctor paused. He blinked and felt the small blush of embarrassment creep into his cheeks.

"I'm talking…talking to a blank computer monitor," he tore his gaze away from the screen, "Great, now I am unconsciously blogging. Perfect…" as if he couldn't get any more mentally unstable.

He groaned. It probably wasn't a good idea if he stayed here any longer. He closed the lid on his laptop a little too forcefully—not wanting to begin other one sided conversation—and crammed it into its case. He flung his tie into the same bag as well; he wasn't in the mood for ties right now. Right now it was cold. Despite the thick walls that enclosed him the doctor could still feel the chill the night air carried. He wished he had a sweatshirt with him, a hoodie.

Yet again the scientist's own train of thought made him freeze. A hoodie? Unconscious _blogging_? The world is a mess and I just need to rule it? He certainly hadn't said that phrase in a long time, not out loud at least.

"Huh," out of curiosity—and the slightest touch of worry—his eyes rolled back as far as they could into his skull, as if to look inside his mind and check to make sure it was truly devoid any extra voices. All he heard was the echo of his own words: 'the world is a mess and I just need to rule it'.

His thoughts turned to Penny; beautiful Penny who deserved so much better. Thinking of her filled him with sadness, as usual, and something else… determination. "_Your wish is my command…"_

He chuckled lightly. This was all for Penny. He reached for the switch on his wall, the one that would envelope his office in bleak darkness and took in the sight of his desk and chairs and motivational posters for what he hoped would be the final time. He didn't need a fancy office anymore, because now for the first time since the beginning of his end he was taking matters into his own hands.

"The doctor _is _in," said Billy Stinson before exiting the corporate prison.


	16. Cannot Believe My Eyes

Chapter 15: Cannot Believe My Eyes

Normally, on cool nights like this when Marshall and Lily wanted some 'alone' time and Robin had the evening broadcast, Ted Mosby would spend his free time down at McClaren's acting as wingman for his nymphomaniac bro Barney Stinson. This was not a normal night. True, Robin Scherbatsky's nightly news delivery would begin momentarily, but Ted hadn't even spoken with her all day. She'd been a bit…despondent lately. As for Marshall and Lily, the pair were currently curled up and cozy on the couch back at the Mosby/Eriksen/Aldrin chateau. Nothing unusual there, save for this being the couple's first chance at alone time in fourteen days. Marshall had been cooped up in the ICU recovering from a bullet wound. He was finally allowed to come home two days ago, and Ted knew his friends could use some much needed 'couple' time.

Despite all other circumstances the thing that Ted believed to make this night the most _not_ normal was his current absence from McClaren's due to one of his best friend's prolonged absence from society. It just felt so…_weird_ hanging out at McClaren's alone. The bar just wasn't as much fun without Barney there to publically humiliate himself with failed pick-up lines (and _occasionally_ a few that scored…with Ted's help). So Ted wasn't at the bar. He was—for lack of anything better to do—wandering. Ted Mosby: architect was aimlessly wandering the streets of New York City after sundown…because he was lonely and bored.

The architect kicked an abandoned can that littered the dirty sidewalk and watched the object skitter off into a crosswalk. This sucked. Where was Barney? A text message every few days did _not_ count as 'checking in'. Ted was worried. His friend had been MIA since him and Marshall both nearly got mugged and one definitely got shot on their way to buy some frozen yogurt. He and Robin tried everything to get Barney to come out of hiding; everything being phone calls, emails, and text messages to every possible number and screen name they could think of. They attempted a house call once, and Ted couldn't help but marvel at the building he'd never before been inside as the pair knocked anxiously on Stinson's door. No one answered. 'The Barnacle' later commented via text he hadn't been home at the time, and responded to no other messages for the rest of the night.

_"Maybe he developed some sort of phobia after the experience?" Lily had suggested_, _"Maybe he's afraid to leave the house, like agoraphobics, or maybe…" and she sighed, "Maybe he feels a little bit guilty or responsible for what happened to Marshall." _

_Robin stiffened as she asked, "how so?"_

_"Maybe he feels that he was the one who should have gotten shot or something," the red head smiled a little, "give him some time, you two. I'm sure he'll come around."_

He hadn't. Not yet at least. Unless, of course, if one counted the brief text messages that informed the group that he was still breathing if nothing else. Ted merely saw them as the only thing keeping Robin from filing a missing person's report and rounding up the hounds for a search party. Whether the hounds would be summoned to find the missing party or hunt down the suspected was still up in the air in Ted's mind. He wasn't quite sure what to believe anymore. He knew what he _wanted_ to believe, but sadly no matter what way Ted looked at it either option was appearing more and more farfetched with every passing hour.

Two weeks. Two weeks was a long time, longer than most people realized. Who knows what could happen in the span of two weeks?

* * *

"Here you are, Marshmallow!" A merry Lily Aldrin offered her husband to be a steaming cup of hot cocoa. He grinned as Lily plopped herself down beside him on the couch, carefully balancing the warm liquid as she did so.

"Thanks Lilypad," Marshall replied, gently lifting the mug from her fingers.

"Careful!" she warned. Marshall still couldn't move too hastily without triggering another jolt of pain that would slide down his entire body. His left arm had also been confined to a sling for the next several weeks as the wound continued to heal.

"I got it," he said wincing. Lily frowned.

"Don't strain yourself."

"I'll be fine, Lily."

Marshall took a sip of his cocoa. As he did Lily snuggled herself in the crevice between his arm and torso, resting her head on his chest. The warm liquid traveled slowly down Marshall's esophagus, only burning him slightly. His fiancé plucked the remote from under the sofa cushions and switched on the TV. Robin would be on soon, but Lily could sense that her boyfriend's thoughts were elsewhere.

"Honey, give him time," she sighed. Sure it was unusual for Barney to practically disappear for this long, but then again Lily had always thought of Barney as an unusual guy. Besides, she had her theories and was sticking to them, "I'm sure whatever was bugging him has worked its way out of his system by now. A lot can happen in two weeks."

* * *

Robin Scherbatsky kept her eyes squeezed shut as what felt like the seven hundredth layer of make-up was applied to her cheeks. She thought so many times that she must look like a clown on the air. Whenever she voiced this fear to her friends they would tell her she was being silly, that she looked great on TV and didn't look so much like clown but a `masseuse` who caters specifically to clowns*. This last remark always came from Barney.

Barney who might be, scratch that, who _was_ a notorious criminal in his spare time. Robin had spent the previous two weeks borderline distraught over his sudden disappearance. It all had something to do with this 'Dr. Horrible' thing— Marshall getting hurt and Barney vanishing—she knew it. But was Barney hurt now too? Where was he? What was he doing? Was he on to her figuring out his secret identity and avoiding the group because of it? Should she turn him in? Was he planning on doing _her_ in? Robin's brain was on fire with those unanswered questions burning holes in her skull.

What Robin didn't know was why, and that was the question she had been dying to ask him the most. Why did he do it; any of it? Why 'Horrible'? Why crime? Why Marshall? Why not her? Why, why, why, why?

Why did she still have doubts?

"Ready in five," somebody told her.

No. They really weren't doubts. They were hopes. Robin was sure that her friend was the criminal she could have swore apologized for knocking her over. Of course being certain didn't stop Robin's heart from hoping she was wrong, that this was all some crazy random happenstance. Hoping didn't make things any easier.

And damn it, where there Hell was he for the past two weeks?!

"Good evening, New York, I'm Robin Scherbatsky," she heard herself say into the camera, false smile plastered to her lips. She felt sick. She could barely concentrate on reading the teleprompter while all those thoughts of Barney and Dr. Horrible and unanswered questions were swimming in her brain. It all made her so nauseous.

In the middle of the weather report the assistant director practically pounced onto Robin's desk while the camera cut away. He whispered something in her ear about 'breaking news' and slipped a neatly typed sheet of paper into her waiting hands. This must be big.

Before she realized it the attention was back on her once more. Why couldn't everything take some time to move slower when her mind was clogged? "Breaking news New York," her cheeks hurt from smiling so much, "have no fear, the heroes…are…here…" seriously, Metro One needed new writers.

Robin pressed on, "We at the station have just been informed that earlier this evening a small band 'heroes'—representing the national Heroes Alliance Guild—accompanied by the New York Police department apprehended several of this city's, nation's and even the globe's most notorious crime lords…" her voice trailed off a bit as she heard her own words, "The…ahem, these criminals, sources tell us, have in fact been identified as part of North America's most feared and elusive organized crime unit. It is also now believed that this organization's Eastern hub was located right here in New York City and that these villains were…" she took a breath, "hiding among us all the while, using…" Robin's voice cracked as she slowly read (and reread) the name of Barney's company typed clearly across the clean white page, "…as a front for their operations….T-t-the…"

She couldn't continue. Her fellow anchor Sandy Rivers took it upon himself to reach across the desk and snatch the sheet from Robin's fingers. The report continued in his voice, "Ahem. The raid earlier this evening was lead by a young, up and coming hero, who we hear is preparing for his interview with the Metro One crew at this very moment from outside this villainess league's headquarters…"

Robin didn't hear the rest of Sandy's rendition of the report. She rubbed a hand over her temple that was pounding relentlessly. Oh no. Oh no, no, no, no, no. Barney. Barney was…that was his building, he…he was involved. He had to be. Or…had he got away? Oh crap, would he think it was Robin who turned him in to the 'heroes'? Damn it! She wished she had gotten a chance to read what names of the arrested were available to the journalist before Sandy stole the report away. Barney…

Sandy droned, "I—" and the lights in the studio flickered brightly, "what the?" Rivers abandoned his professional tone. Some of the lights in the back of Metro One's small production room remained dim; and Robin reflexively lifted her head from its resting place in her fingertips as the only doors in and out of the room locked noisily.

Then somebody screamed. One of the make-up artists, Robin thought. As the frightened woman's scream died down the studio's other occupants waited in utter shock for what they were unaware would happen next. A cackle emanated from the shadowy corner of the room; an evil demented cackle. Robin's heart froze in her throat.

"Keep those cameras rolling," the man lurking in the dark growled. The make-up woman squealed again. The entire crew was frozen as the figure gracefully strode forth into the dim light, a terrified hostage in one hand and menacing looking sparking ray gun in the other. He laughed again. Not as loud or as twisted this time, but still enough to keep his audience frozen.

Robin recognized the villain instantly with his trademark goggles—although the red lab coat she remembered was missing and replaced with pristine white. The journalist trembled. "Dr. Horrible…"

* * *

"Lily, Lily no, Lily!" Marshall was trying not to sound angry at his wife to be…who was currently fondling the zipper of his jeans. He kept his eyes glued to the TV "Lil-lyyy."

"What is it, Marshmallow?" she cooed sexily, nuzzling his neck.

Marshall used his free arm to push Lily from his chest, "Robin!" he shouted.

"What?" Lily questioned, turning her attention to the television. She attempted to adjust her askew blouse and watch Robin's mingled expression of shock and horror. The cameraman zoomed out a tad. A man in a white coat stepped into frame, tossing another woman aside and aiming his weapon at Metro One's female anchor.

"Oh my God…" Lily whined, leaving her shirt ruffled.

* * *

Ted Mosby was pressing his nose to the glass of the electronics shop he had been passing only a moment ago. It was only a moment ago he noticed the televisions on display in the showcase window were tuned to Metro News One and he briefly paused to stare at the beautiful Robin Scherbatsky pretending not to hate her job on air. It was now that he watched in shock and horror as the live report cart-wheeled out of control, and a guy with a ray gun laughed maniacally on local TV.

"No!" Ted gasped as the architect's heart leapt into his throat. Robin was in danger. The girl he confessed to loving on their first date was in danger and all he could do was stand on the street and watch. And he…wait…that guy in the white…was that… "nnnnnnoooooooooo…" Ted groaned.

* * *

* Originally said by Dr. Cox to Elliot on Scrubs. Giving credit where credit is due.


	17. Dr Horrible is Here

Chapter 16: Dr. Horrible is Here 

It wasn't that hard to short circuit the lights in the studio via remote, or to seal the doors. The former only took a few nights of scoping out the place and some rewiring to accomplish. For the latter he only needed a sturdy chain and padlock. The tricky part was sneaking in unnoticed. Or at least he thought that would be the tricky part. Turns out nobody questions a normal looking guy in a custodial jumpsuit with a good fake ID no matter how big his duffle bag is. And yes, it was hard not to yell "JUMPSUIT UP!" to anyone who would listen, but he couldn't jeopardize this plan in any way.

He'd been _very_ busy these past two weeks.

Copious—and unhealthy—amounts of Red Bull consumed kind of busy.

After all, he _had_ come up with all of this_ and_ managed to rebuild a machine that had taken him months to construct the first time around in _only_ two weeks. The luxury of time was most certainly not on his side; any longer and the League would have started to suspect something. He hated being rushed though. His eye twitched a bit in nervousness. He really, _really_ hoped everything went according to plan.

He had already ditched the borrowed jumpsuit in the nearest custodial closet to slip into something more appropriate by the time he snuck into the studio. The weather report had just ended, and while those in front of the camera focused on their Teleprompters and those behind the device focused on those in front he remained undetected. He wouldn't for long; however, he did stick out like a sore thumb in goggles and a white lab coat. So drugging the control room had to be quick. At least releasing the knock out gas and locking the door was a walk in the park.

"Breaking news, New York," he paused for a moment to absorb Robin's voice, "have no fear, the heroes…are…here…" a chuckle he was forced to repress rose in his throat. It was so obvious how Sherbatsky loathed this job, and he certainly knew what that felt like. A frown pulled his mouth downward. She really wasn't going to be happy with him after this. She was already burdened with her knowledge of the mad doctor to begin with. Apparently enough to let Sandy Rivers steal this particular story from her—well at least _that_ part of the plan was on schedule.

He inhaled deep. A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do, and it was show time. He hit the lights.

"Muwahahahhaaaaa," Dr. Horrible attempted his most menacing memorable laugh. Finally, it was _his _turn.

* * *

Sorry this was so short, more will be coming soon.


	18. Destroying the Status Quo

Sigh. Sorry my updates are so spaced out lately, I've been a bit busy. More will be coming, promise.

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 17: Destroying the Status Quo

Screams, petrified fear, submission to his every—err…thus far _one_ – demand. Dr. Horrible smirked, this was fantastic! Everything _was _going according to his superiorly awesome plan. That PhD in Horribleness was finally paying off.

One of the camera men attempted to step forward. Dr. Horrible stared straight at the man as he jabbed Robin in the shoulder with his ray gun. "Ow!" she gasped, her shock dissolving into something that more closely resembled rage. If he remembered to he'd have to make it a point to apologize for that later.

"Nobody moves, or Sch—the woman dies!" he growled. It was a false threat, but a necessary one to keep control of his small crowd. He felt Robin instantly tense as he voiced his warning. He peered back down at her for moment—mostly to make sure she wasn't pulling a .9mm from under that desk and preparing to shove it directly into his mouth. She wasn't. Instead Robin was examining him from head to toe, goggles to galoshes. Last time she and Dr. Horrible were this close the reporter was barely conscious. Now her eyes traveled over his white coat, frazzled hair, oversized gloves, buttons, rubber boots, bulky goggles, ray gun and even the little red insignia over his breast pocket. She looked…a bit…in _awe_ of it all. Perhaps it just finally hit her, the full force of her discovery.

Bil—Barney Stinson was Dr. Horrible.

It had taken him ages to find that white coat again.

* * *

Exactly seven days since the incident that landed Marshall Eriksen in the hospital Billy Stinson was too busy tearing his a-typical bachelor pad to pieces to visit his friend. Trunks and suitcases that he never unpacked after venturing east littered his apartment, their contents either recklessly dumped onto the floor or carefully transported to the lab. Yes, having the Evil League of Evil find his apartment rather than Craig's List did have its certain perks and advantages.

Speaking of the League, Billy was making good time thus far on his own personal plan. What he needed now was his coat, his _old_ coat; the white one. He liked it much better than the bloody red (ugh, it_ always_ reminded him of blood) and since he was through being the ELE's puppet for hazardous chemicals he figured it best to shed all traces of the persona the League had given him. The red was Bad Horses's idea. Red was more menacing, more dangerous, more evil. Billy always thought the white one looked just fine, but whatever, Bad Horse's whinny was law.

"Aha!" he shouted victoriously into his otherwise empty apartment. After hours of searching Billy had finally found "one glove?" he sighed. It _was _progress.

"Barney!"

Billy jumped so high his blond head nearly punched through his own ceiling. That was Ted's voice, followed by a barrage of rapping against his door.

"Barney, are you in there?"

Now Scherbatsky was here too? How did they even figure out where he lived? Number one rule for ELE social interaction: stay vague.

"Barney?" Ted called out again and Robin joined him. Billy remained perfectly silent.

"We know this is your place, Stinson!" Robin whined, "Just give yourself up already!"

He gulped.

"Robin," Ted spoke softer, "C'mon, he's not answering."

"This is where he lives!"

"And maybe he's sleeping or out or something,"

"Well…then…I'll wait!"

"Robin…"

"He's got to either go in or come out sometime! Unless…"

"No, Robin," through the door Billy could sense Ted moving in to place a comforting arm over her shoulders, "C'mon, we can come back later."

"It's been a week!"

"I know,"

"You don't think this is weird?!"

"Of course I think it's weird, Robin!" Ted sighed, "we can come back later, I promise."

"Ted…"

"I _know_. I'm worried about him too."

For a moment Billy thought himself a coward for avoiding his friends outside, and he knew that hypothesis to be mostly correct. But he simply couldn't face them right now, for many reasons; the first being his work. The doctor was operating on a very tight schedule. He didn't have time for any social interactions. Secondly if the League knew Dr. Horrible was mingling with the masses when he was supposed to be building the ELE their weapon the consequences would be unnamable, especially since he was deceiving the League already. The third reason he was hiding? Well that was simple, they would catch him. Not as Dr. Horrible, however, from the sound of things he gathered Ted and Robin at least knew that much about him already. He was afraid for them to catch him as Billy; suit less nervous blinky Billy. Some Barney-isms remained, though more out of habitual conditioning it seemed, but he wasn't sure if he was brave to face his friends as a man they didn't know yet.

Billy chuckled a bit. Rob a bank, face off with a hero and attempt to conquer the world no problem, but_ meet _his friends? Ha! He definitely had some serious self esteem issues. Eek, and the very thought of finding the perfect ratio between his two halves gave the doctor a migraine.

"Robin, please."

There was moan and a sigh from the girl, "Fine…" and then the shuffling of feet down the hallway.

Billy breathed a sigh of relief and made a mental note: he would have to offer them a very good explanation slash apology for what he was planning.

* * *

They never did return to his apartment. At least, not that Billy knew of. Maybe they tried. Maybe they got caught up in their own busy lives returning to the vague silhouette of normal. Who knew? It's not like it matters anymore.

Sandy Rivers tugged on the doctor's coat, "What do you want, money?"

"Money?" Billy wanted to spit at him for that, "you think I want _money?!_ HA!"

Sandy stood up, "Yes, I hhhMMMmmmmM," and Dr. Horrible made sure he sat right back down. Keeping his weapon pointed at Scherbatsky's shoulder the doctor retrieved a small plastic ball from his pocket decorated with all sorts of blinking lights. He pressed a button that made the bright green ones turn red, and with his free hand poked the device into Rivers' annoying pie hole; anything to get that guy to shut up.

"Sit," the villain commanded, and Sandy, frightened, obeyed. Dr. Horrible withdrew another item from his pockets. He stared longingly for a few seconds at the roll of silver duct tape. This wasn't going to work…

"Hey," he prodded Robin again, "Could…could you help me with this?"

"Are you serious?!" the way the words came flying out of her mouth Billy knew they weren't the ones she'd been practicing.

"Uh, _yeah_," he rolled his eyes at her, "kind of hard to start of roll of duct tape one handed," the journalist hesitated to submit, "alsoIhaveadeathray?"

"Okay!"

Robin's pale hands (the color had drained from her fingers) snatched the silver grey object from Billy's grasp and began clawing at the tape.

"Yeah, that's good. Just when you're finished, put it over his mouth, okay?"

She begrudgingly nodded.

Dr. Horrible turned his attention back to his remaining hostages…and the cameras.

"In Sandy Rivers' mouth is a bomb," he stated matter-of-factly. For a moment a ripple of panic seeped into the crowd, Sandy squealed, and Robin briefly froze as the breath hitched in her throat, "there is a detonator rigged to _those_ doors," for emphasis the doctor pointed back at the only exit, "I _also_ have a detonator. So if any of you," he poked at his staring hostages behind the camera, and the calm in his voice surprised Billy, "try to escape or turn those cameras off, I _will_ blow Sandy Rivers sky high. I _do _realize that many of you probably don't _care _all that much about Mr. Rivers," another muffled cry from Sandy. Robin had succeeded in her task and was now shivering. Dr. Horrible momentarily turned to Sandy, cocking his head to one side as he answered, "Hey Pal, society's flawed. _But! _He _does_ have enough explosives on him to probably kill us all, so I would _not_ recommend doing either of those things; they are probably not a good idea."

There was a lull. Then a hostage sniffled and tried to cover it up. The doctor grinned a bit, feeling smug. People could be so easily fooled. In the back he noticed a woman fumbling around for her purse.

"Also, please, no cell phones or flash photography, that's just rude," the horrible Dr. Horrible figured out how to remotely disconnect the phones from their satellites a long time ago so they were useless anyhow, "Now, if you can follow these simple rules then I _promise_ you, sincerely _promise _you, that you'll all walk away from this without a scratch, but please," he nudged Robin, "don't make me use this."

"W-why are you doing this?" Robin choked out beside him.

"Why not?" he laughed.

"W-what?"

Billy frowned, sighing, "It's the only way…"


	19. Heroes Are Over With

Chapter 18: Heroes Are Over With

Billy frowned, sighing, "It's the only way…"

Robin Scherbatsky's brows furrowed. Dr. Horrible tried not to notice, he couldn't just _tell _her the plan, that'd give it all away. Besides he didn't even have time for a Scherbatsky-Stinson heart to heart moment, he was on a tight schedule.

The doctor cleared his throat, changing the subject. His hostages were getting anxious. "So what's on the agenda for this evening," he leafed through the papers scattered across the news desk until he found one of interest, "Ah, the heroes bust." He smirked and delivered his best evil chuckle, as if to tell the audience "yeah right", or "that won't last long", or "those foolish fools the heroes are, evil shall soon be on the rise!"

Instead he was really thinking about what a relief it was to know that even _that_ was going according to plan. Johnny Snow had come through for him after all.

He put the red coat on that night—the night of the second or third worst day of his life—just to look intimidating. His busy day wasn't quite over yet. Dr. Horrible had one more pest to, as Fake Thomas Jefferson had put it, 'take care of'.

So Billy put on the coat and the gloves and the goggles and plunged that syringe into the pudgy veins of his captive. Now all he had to do was wait a good, oh three maybe four seconds before—

"AAhhh!" Clark Butterfield (Johnny Snow) rose from his slumber in screams. He instinctively fought against the binds the skillful doctor wound the wannabe hero to the chair with. Snow's eyes spun in their sockets like that of frightened animal. His breathing was heavy and rapid as if he'd just run a marathon. It was all sort of amusing…

"Mornin' sunshine," Dr. Horrible greeted him flatly.

"You—Doc—You!—Horrible—" the doctor's prisoner found himself incapable of finishing a coherent thought let alone sentence. Billy thought it would probably best if he did most of the talking anyhow.

"Yeah," he began with a sigh, "you probably don't feel so great right now," the scientist held up the now empty syringe for Johnny. Of course his display went unnoticed by the hyper hero until Billy caught his jaw in a black gloved hand to hold Snow steady.

"This is—uh, _was —_epinephrine. It's like artificial adrenaline; I had to give it to you to wake you up," the doctor explained slowly, as if talking to a child. Snow reacted like one, all confused and whiney, "Sorry it's so, uhh, intense. Like drinking nine thousand red bulls…well…maybe a little less…nine thousand, I think you'd…die. Oh! Uh, the initial, you know, _boost_ should wear off soon," Billy tried reassuring him…and then shrugging he added something he probably shouldn't have, "For a minute I thought I really _had_ killed you."

"Whhaaattt?!" Snow girlishly shrieked. Billy winced and Johnny attempted to find freedom in rocking his chair back and forth endlessly.

"Yeah, dude, and I'm starting to regret _not_ doing it, so chill, please," Dr. Horrible took hold of Snow's shoulder to steady the wobbly Eskimo. Johnny stared at him for a long time—for a tweaker , maybe—before he got jittery again.

"Why? How?!" he demanded.

Billy grinned. It was hard to resist showing off his gadgets. He leapt excitedly from Johnny's side to snatch the gun he left laying across the room, "Behold!" he triumphantly boasted, "my new and _improved_ stun ray! It's an _almost_ death ray…or a simulated death ray…" the doctor examined the gun, "suspended animation ray? Ohh _coma_ ray, that's good…" his attention drifted back to the confused hero the doctor had kidnapped, "I…haven't quite figured out a good name for it yet…" Billy admitted, blinking.

He _was_ going to kill Johnny, really. Maybe. Well, at least he _thought_ he was, for a time. Maybe it was just Barney who had planned on pulling the trigger and Billy who ended up packing the wrong gun. Subconscious sabotage, was that even possimpible? Maybe he never really intended to go through with it at all. But _whatever_ he had or hadn't been planning what Dr. Horrible had ended up _doing _was stunning his non-nemesis into a coma and bringing him back to the doctor's own apartment. It's not like Barne—Bill—Barney had wanted to invite a corpse over for brunch or anything, it was in the elevator he realized his mix-up and instead of taking Snow's body down to the Hudson he opted for kidnapping. Why?

He had absolutely no idea.

"But it works!" Billy hastily added, "I now know…" he reached out and poked Johnny, who in turn grimaced and shied away, "Test subject…inadvertent…test subject," although gradually coming down from his high the prisoner remained baffled, "I grabbed the wrong gun, I don't know maybe it was some subconscious moral thing but whatever. It was just something I've been working on, in private, for you know, just in case… safety precautions…."

Billy's gaze wondered, his mind filled with too many worst case scenarios. Johnny coughed.

"Right!" the doctor snapped up, "Ahem, coma ray. Yeah. I don't really know why…I haven't been feeling…myself...lately, ahem," time to change the subject, "Didn't actually know if it worked though, heh." The scientist felt the tiniest trill of accomplishment, "So for a while I thought I actually killed you…" and there goes that feeling out the window, "and my imagination yelled at me…"

"What do you want with me you fiend?!"

Ah, so he was lucid again.

"_Tea_," Horrible answered sarcastically, his eyes narrowing.

"Hah! Tea! I would never have tea with my nemesis!"

Wow. This guy really didn't know when to take a joke. But hey, wait a minute—

"Dude, for the last time, I am not your **nemesis!**" Billy snapped, tossing his gun aside in frustration, "Captain _Hammer_ is my nemesis. Can you get that through your icy thick skull?" the scientist knocked a fist against Johnny's forehead, "Captain _Hammer_."

"Please!" was Snow's chuckling reply. Billy's jaw clenched, "when was the last time the two of you saw action?"

The, literally, mad doctor was stunned for a moment, like he had been hit by the force of his own invention. Billy blinked as he thought…and thought… and thought. The last time he had even seen Captain Hammer was, what, five, six years ago, before his move to the city? Oh! Oh now he remembered… "The carnival fiasco," Billy replied warily.

Snow hissed in likewise remembrance, "That day didn't exactly end on a high note for either of you."

"Noo…" the doctored squirmed. Had it really been so long since he and his supposed nemesis crossed paths? Yes. The more he thought about it the easier it was to believe too. He rarely ran into any trouble with heroes these days, being under the Bad Horse's hoof; except of course, for the ever present pestilence that was Johnny Snow.

"Don't you see it, Horrible? You and I, we were born to duel!" Snow was positively giddy about this opinion, "Now release me foe!"

"No."

"What?" the ice man's bold bravado was once again replaced by his girly whine, "why not?!"

"I have a proposition for you, Johnny," Dr. Horrible grinned, adjusting his goggles, "a deal."

"I don't make deals with the enemy,"

"Hey, you're still alive because of me!"

"You planned to kill me!"

"Cant a guy change his mind?!" Billy defended himself, pouting a little, "Listen, you want to be a HAG—a member of HAG— don't you?"

The doctor knew that lowly, incompetent Johnny Snow would barely be able to resist this tempting offer. He could see the gears turning behind his captive's eyes.

"I don't need your pity," Snow finally answered. He wanted to keep his pride. Heroes don't take help from villains, _especially _the ones that were supposed to be said hero's nemesis.

"Trust me," Billy nearly laughed, "I've got purely selfish reasons for doing this."

"Never!"

His non-nemesis was being more difficult to break than Dr. Horrible had predicted, "Okay, let me put it like this. I let you live," Billy's voice was uncharacteristically confident. He was drawing on a piece of his pretend egotistical self, "You're seen my face, Snow, my place of business, the inside of my evil lair. You think I'd just let you out of here on a freebee?"

"Never! I'll never give up, never surrender!" apparently this guy was goodie-goodie enough to quote bad scifi flicks.

The doctor sighed. He knew that sacrifices would have to be made in order for this new plan of his to work. He figured it all out on the cab ride home. He just didn't think it would start with this, "You…" Dr. Horrible began reluctantly, cautiously, "you can be….my …" he wanted choke, "ugh, my nemesis."

"Really?!" the sudden sparkle in Snow's eyes made Billy jump back a little.

Oh how he so hated to agree to this, "Y-" the word would not appear, "Nnnn-" _say no, say no_, "Nyes!" he gasped. "Nyes."

"Deal."

Surprisingly, given the doctor's new 'if you want anything done right, do it yourself attitude' he was glad that Johnny Snow had come through with his end of the bargain. Despite giving him such thorough instructions on how to infiltrate the League, Dr. Horrible really did think he was going to have problems on Snow's end. But his non-nemesis had managed not to screw it up (he would never admit to Snow being his new _real _nemesis).

"Well I don't care about heroes," Dr. Horrible growled, brandishing his weapon at the cameras, "Heroes are over with, and _why_ might you ask?!"

Silence greeted him. The doctor really did have to do _everything_ himself, didn't he?

Billy turned his head back down to Robin, "Go ahead, ask it," he whispered.

"Uhh," she fidgeted in confusion, "Why?"

"Because they uphold a failing system," the villain replied as though the answer was so obvious, "Ladies and Gentlemen I'm here tonight to talk to you all about a little thing called the _world_. IDK, maybe you've heard of it? Well the truth is that the world is a mess and…and I once hoped that with a little push the human race was capable of changing on its own for the better. _That_ was a long time ago, and _apparently_ I never solved for the variable of inspiration so here it is:"

His speech would be grandiose. He knew he'd have to make it that way for people to listen. He'd have to make it memorable, and he'd also have to make them afraid. Fear was as good an inspiration as any other. In some cases, Billy figured that fear could equal hope as well.

"Your final warning!"


	20. No Time for Mercy

Chapter 19: No Time for Mercy 

"So _**suck**_** it**!" was how Dr. Horrible had poignantly concluded his resignation speech to the Evil League of Evil. Billy grinned in triumph, switching off his webcam. By this time tomorrow Bad Horse, Fake Thomas Jefferson and all the others would be receiving the email containing the doctor's video. But there would be nothing they could do about then—God willing Snow came through with his end of the deal—before Dr. Horrible could unleash his…well… 'attack' was too strong a word. 'Plan of action' was more like it, or at least the best replacement he could come up with.

But even if the wannabe didn't hold up his end Billy had a backup plan, sort of. Again not the best choice of words; it was a necessary Plan B rolled into the Plan A. Or was it the other way around?

Regardless! There would be nothing Bad Horse could do to dispose of the treacherous Dr. Horrible. Normally Billy would not consider Bad Horse a foe to be reckoned with—or even a foe at all—but the doctor was prepared for what the leader of the Evil League of Evil might have in store for him once made his enemy. After the ELE discovered that Horrible had turned traitor they'd erase him, and that didn't mean just killing the scientist. That would be too kind. They would wipe away every trace of his very existence from the planet.

Billy was lucky the League had given him a task in which he'd need to work mostly at home to complete; it meant that he could get away with pretending and taking care of his own private personal business instead. He erased himself. Mostly. He cleared out his apartment and his lab and moved all his equipment into a storage unit rented under the name Douglas Howser upstate. He emptied his bank accounts. He finally paid off his debt to society—stupid public urination—in the form of a generous check to the Hungry Hands group. His stolen Volunteer of the Year photo had finally been forgotten too. All the League had to 'take care of'—their favorite choice of words— was the paper work, all those pesky documents indicating Barney Stinson as a real live human being. Billy was counting on them to cover their tracks and sweeping him under the rug to avoid association.

Ha, too late for that now.

Boy was Bad Horse going to be pissed when he realized there'd be another villain to compete with out there. What would be optimal was if he never noticed at all, and that's _exactly_ what Billy was hoping for.

* * *

"Did you honestly think you can go around, destroying society, this planet, _each other _without ever feeling the repercussions?" Dr. Horrible growled to his trembling audience.

Annnnndddd he'd lost them. Already. One sentence into his speech and they were already dumbfounded. No wonder society was a wreck.

"Are you all that dumb?!" he roared, "You can't see it happening?"

Their bodies shuddered, but faces remained void and blank.

Billy wiped the sweat from his eyes in irritation. He thought back to the homeless man he saw on the street a few weeks ago. He thought back to that over flowing trash can, the pollution of the air, the woman asking for some spare change in the Laundromat and the ignorant people who just didn't give a damn as they passed by. He thought about all the wars, everywhere. Hunger, strife, homelessness; none of it ever seemed to end. The world was in shambles and while the 'lesser' individuals suffered the corporate tools gave themselves Christmas bonuses.

"You're eating each other alive!" The doctor shouted, waving his gun about. Both Robin and Sandy Rivers ducked to avoid collision with the instrument, "and you're all too ignorant, too _blind_ to cut off your own rotting heads!"

Silence. Confusion. Blank stares.

"Uhh…" Robin blinked back a question.

Damn it. That never was a perfect metaphor.

"You just won't change," Dr. Horrible shook his head in disappointment, "you need to and you just won't. I used to think 'surely, the human race couldn't be that much of a lost cause' but time and again I've been proven wrong," he sighed, disgusted, "We live in a world where greed corrupts everything, where competition is in_ no_ way healthy, and where some find it perfectly acceptable to _murder_ one of their closest friends to get ahead!"

There was rustling in the crowd. As a collective whole they couldn't decide on whether Horrible's words were meant to be taken literal or figuratively. Robin Scherbatsky's posture straightened. Literally. That was she was always good for, making everything 'literally'. She knew the truth, and now more than ever wanted to ask him that burning question: why?

"And maybe, since you just won't change," the doctor's voice grew in confidence and malice, "there is no hope for you!" the crowd shrank away from the dangerous man, truly frightened by the berserk look in his eye, "You need to be _forced_ into reform! You need to fear the consequences of what will happen if you don't!"

Dr. Horrible grabbed Sandy Rivers by the chin, "do you _really_ want to see what I'm capable of?"

Sandy squirmed, his eyes bulging and his throat wobbling in un-releasable shouts. Of course they didn't. Half the time Billy didn't even want to see what he was capable of.

The deranged doctor slammed his foot into Sandy's chest, sending the anchor sliding onto the hard floor. Secretly he'd always wanted to do that. "Do you _really_ want to know what I could do to _inspire_ you?"

Gasps. Stifled cries. Dr. Horrible smirked.

"The world is a mess," he righteously repeated, "and this is your ultimatum!"

Change or else. It didn't need to be said. But in his fervor Billy directed his weapon into the air and fired off one shot. The crowd ducked and cried as the red laser penetrated the ceiling. Plaster rained down on the small studio in clouds of white dust.

That was it. Really. That was all he had wanted to say. Despite his passion and yearning for change and how much he truly wished his audience would take his words to heart, it was all just a time waster anyways. All the doctor had left to do was wait.

There was a single beat of silence.

And all Hell broke loose.

Before the helpless hostages could even register the commotion, from outside their prison a loud bang and some yelling and a flash were generated. The heavy doors collapsed inward with a deafening thud. Men in black Kevlar and wielding guns were storming the studio, commanding the innocents to duck and cover. There was smoke from some sort of grenade and everyone was coughing and shouting and as the hostages got up to run the panic surged.

Dr. Horrible stiffened—ignoring the audience he had anticipated losing—as the SWAT team entered. He gulped when their sights found him. This was it.

"Drop you weapon!" one shouted, aiming his onyx gun at the evil doctor.

Dr. Horrible made no attempt to surrender, no useless plea for mercy. Everything was moving in slow motion. The SWAT team shouted at him again, others ushered screaming hostages out. Their words were all muted and intangible, their movements lethargic. Robin dropped to her knees, falling at a drowsy pass with the aid of the white gloved hand that pushed her from the chair. She screamed something, maybe, Billy wasn't listening anymore.

He pointed his stun ray at the nearest advancing officer, not manically laughing or grinning wickedly, but almost robotic. This was it. What had he been thinking? _It's the only way._ Dr. Horrible clasped his eyes shut in horrid anticipation and made a great show of pretending to squeeze his trigger.

The blow came first, then the bang, or at least that's the way Billy felt it. The first bullet entered his body on the right side of his chest, knocking the wind from him. He dropped his practically harmless stun gun as his muscles spasmed. There was another bang, and then another, just for good measure the doctor figured, stumbling backward. The pain of the lead pellets ripping open his flesh was worse than he thought it would be, worse than thousand punches to the groin from Captain Hammer. Then again, could anyone, even this evil genius, have accurately predicted the exact surge of pain three gunshots to the torso would produce?

Billy opened his eyes after the third hit. His hands instinctively flapped to his chest in effort to cover his wounds. He glanced downward. Red? He was sure he had worn the white coat today. Dr. Horrible grazed one wound with his palm and lifted the hand closer for inspection. Red. The blood oozing from his holes spread like disease across the clean, crisp, white lab coat.

Billy's head spun, vision blurred. He was suddenly feeling so dizzy. His knees buckled. The villain fell to the floor behind the news desk without an ounce of grace, his hands still making the futile human attempt to spot the bleeding. He felt the warm liquid dribble down his chin.

"Baaarrrnnnneeeyyyy!!!"

A woman shrieked, hysterical.

Dr. Horrible coughed up a bubble of blood and slumped against the thin, painted wall of the studio. A smear of red marked his path. He was alone now, secluded from the torturous world by imitation wood and wheelie chairs.

"Billy?" a soft voiced asked. He felt the warm hand press against his cold cheek and the world came into focus. He saw her: the beautiful freckle faced red head blinking back at him, tears like jewels in her emerald eyes. So she _had_ come to see him again.

"Penny…" Dr. Horrible responded, his crystal blue eyes brightening—only—a pinch. The corners of his mouth turned upward in a cruel, dying smile. Penny was there. She had come to see him for…what…the last time? Yes. Yes this could very well be the last time. He had to tell her.

"Barney, no," Penny cried, her voice somehow different, "No, no, no, how could you? Barney?" his neck was beginning to refuse the duty of support to the doctor's cranium. The hand pressed harder against his face to pull him back, "Barney Stinson look at me!" she commanded.

"Penny…" Billy's voice rasped. It was weak, the blood sliding up and down his throat made him gurgle, "This world…"

"Barney! Barney, who's Penny?" Penny's brows furrowed above those watery eyes and her fingers lightly slapped Dr. Horrible's cheek. Her clothes were red in places they shouldn't be.

"The world that I change," he was panting, his lungs couldn't handle the simple task of speaking for much longer, "It's for you Penny…"

Cough. Blood. Pain. Everywhere, every inch of his body was in pain. He groaned.

"Barney, c'mon, it'll be alright…" the crying voice lied. Her warm hands were pressing firmly against his wounds in vain, "Don't do this!"

"You deserve a better world than this," Billy advised. The pain was fading, quickly, steadily, until it almost didn't hurt at all anymore. He felt nothing but a dull ache, though even that was dissipating into a welcomed numbness. He was cold. The corners of Dr. Horrible's mouth turned upwards once more, "and it'll be mine…" he mused, "_ours_!"

His sudden enthusiasm made him cough again. It had drained him more than he knew.

Penny was sobbing, mumbling his name over and over again. She told him to hang on, to not give up, and 'why' she asked. She kept asking. Why? Why had he done this?

Billy sort of thought that was obvious, "We'll rule the world, Penny…" he shivered, his voice came out hushed, "You and me…any day. We'll do that. We'll do what we see fit."

Blood poured over his lips.

"Barney!" Penny was scared. And it was funny, but for a second she sounded just like Scherbatsky.

"It's okay," Dr. Horrible sighed. He reached a blood stained glove out to her, but the strain on his body made his vision blur and head spin all over again. His arm dropped immobile to the ground, "It'll be okay," it would. It would be okay. Everything would work out this way. He had done this for a reason. If only Penny would stop crying and see!

"Dreams are easy to achieve…" Billy tried to sing, to remind her of the good advice she once gave him, "if hope…"for a moment the air ceased to flow in and out of his lungs, "hope is all…I'm hoping…"

"Barney, stop it!" Penny hit him harder. It didn't sting, "I'm going to get you out of here. I'll get you to a hospital, please, just hang on!"

"Our world Penny…" his voice was but a faint whisper. Dr. Horrible's chest ceased to rise and fall in the rigid, painful way it had before.

"No!" Robin yelled. She tried to hit him again, harder, to knock some sense into that bastard but someone held her back. A SWAT member pulled her up off the ground by her arms. Robin kicked and yelled in protest but the officer refused to unhand her.

"Our world, it'll be…" the evil man's eyes had grown dull.

"No!" the journalist elbowed her captor, but he was stronger than she and his grip was ironclad.

The sparkle that inhabited Billy's eyes suddenly rekindled, like a super nova just as it explodes, "Legend—"

And that was it. The spark had faded. The doctor's eyes glazed and his body went completely limp. His mouth hung slightly agape, blood dripping from his bottom lip. His goggles had somehow slipped and shimmied down onto the bridge of his nose, obstructing any on looker's gaze from the mad scientist's lifeless eyes.

Robin Scherbatsky was dragged away screaming.

The SWAT team relaxed. The villain had been vanished. The threat was over.

Dr. Horrible was dead.

* * *

Author's Note: Um…sigh. Yes. I know. I'm Evil and I am sorry. This hurts me too. But there is more, promise.


	21. There's No Happy Ending

Author's Note: Sorry this too so long, FF was glitching on me.

* * *

Chapter 20: There's No Happy Ending

Six days. Six very surreal days had passed, almost a week. Dr. Horrible was dead. He had been defeated. Never again would his wickedness plague mankind.

Ted Mosby had never been more confused.

Barney was missing, really missing this time. Robin was so convinced that Barney and Dr. Horrible were one and the same that there weren't enough Kleenex tissues in the world to mop up her puddles. But she was mistaken. She had to be. Ted would prove it to her. He'd find Barney.

According to the police, his landlord and the former—not so legally pure—employers of Barney Stinson no record of such a man ever existed. Not even a birth certificate could be found.

Ted refused for five days not to watch the video. It appeared on the same blog site Robin had introduced the architect to a few weeks before. It was the same website that housed Dr. Horrible's stagnant archive of blogs. Six days ago a new video had appeared in the log of username Dr. Horrible. For five days Ted Mosby forced himself not to watch it. He wanted nothing, absolutely nothing, more to do with Dr. Horrible! This was day six, however, and for answers Ted was desperate.

"Guess who's _back_!" the stark white image of Dr. Horrible grinned as he shouted into his camera. Ted watched, slightly sickened, the smile on the white-coated doctor falter. He and Ted seemed to staring at one another, exchanging disappointed glances in the silence that consumed the villain's latest blog. Dr. Horrible blinked finally, breaking the strange contact with his viewer, and adjusted his peculiar choice of headwear, "Heh, sorry, I kind of haven't done this in a while, so umm, not sure how to begin," the doctor confessed "Uhhh, call it comeback, I guess, or what you want, but I am officially no longer affiliated with the Evil League of Evil!" Horrible's voice rose with purpose, "They are nothing but a bunch of hypocrites and liars! Though understandably they are a League of Evil, lying is one of their strong points," a crooked smile drifted across the doctor's lips, "that and redundancy," he chuckled at his own joke, blue gaze growing distant in thought.

Ted didn't want to watch anymore. This wasn't Barney. It couldn't be. There was some sort of mistake. It had to be a mistake. Barney's evil twin, separated at birth. It could happen. This guy, this Horrible guy wasn't one of Ted Mosby's best friends. Soon enough Barney would come back from his retreat— oblivious to all the crazy stuff that had happened lately—and everything would go back to the way things were. He could go back to chancing Robin, Marshall and Lily would stop fighting, and Barney would be come back making dirty jokes, discouraging Ted from marriage with his crazy dating rules and his whole in yards. Barney would have fist bumped Ted for that. Barney _would_ fist bump Ted for that, the second he got back and everything returned to normal. Ted wasn't going to watch anymore of this. He reached for his mouse.

Dr. Horrible's eyes flickered and found their way back to the camera as Ted's arm stretched forward, "Yeah, I know, I know it was my _dream_ and what not to be part of the League and finally make a difference, but there is _no_ difference! Six years I've dedicated to the ELE and nothing's changed! There's no overhauling the system, no disrupting the status quo, no anarchy that I run, it's…disappointing, suffocating." he sighed, "I had to get out of there. And you know not long ago I would have liked things to just go back to the way they were," the blond inside the computer tugged on his white coat, his eyes intentionally not meeting the webcam. The voice was softer when the doctor spoke again, "I would have _really _liked things to go back to the way they were, before Pen—" Dr. Horrible's head perked, "Ahem, well, you know. But things change, and you can't ever go back to the way things were in the past, not exactly. I found that out the hard way," the scientist grimaced. Ted cringed, his arm frozen in place.

"I'm guessing some of you have seen the broadcast by now, on Metro One, assuming all went according to plan, which it should have because I've _still _got that PhD in Horribleness! I'm also guessing that some of you might be wondering what's going on, why the change, why drop out of the League, and_ whatever_," Dr. Horrible absentmindedly shook his head, "or maybe some of you from the old days are wondering what happened then. Did the evil go to my head, or what?" the doctor's hand fiddled with his goggles once more, a nervous habit, "I don't know, maybe some of you are wondering the same thing I am sometimes. Who am I? I'm Dr. Horrible!...but, you know," there was another thought filled pause, Horrible glanced down at his attire once more. The idea that struck him was clearly evident on the man's face, "am I white, or am I red?

"Well maybe, now, I can say I'm a little bit of both. `Cause it's all about finding balance, singing my own harmonies," Dr. Horrible mused, almost unsure of his statement. His face fell once more in realization and his heavy blinking returned, "And now looking back I probably shouldn't have used the color metaphor because red and white make pink and I am _not_ pink!" Dr. Horrible sneered at his camera.

The tiniest of laughs pulled and tugged in Ted's throat, though he refused to let it escape. He did, however, allow the corners of his mouth to upturn ever so slightly.

"I'm Dr. Horrible!" the villain proudly announced, "There's no changing that! Ever! This is who I'm meant to be. Changing this world is what I'm meant to do! It's not hopeless. _I'm _not hopeless!" this was starting to sound oddly motivational, "So whenever I start feeling hopeless, I stop being hopeless, and be horrible instead!" Dr. Horrible grinned.

Ted's ghost smile vanished. He'd had enough.

"Oh, and Ted!" the architect jumped, nearly falling out of his chair with fright. Barney? Mosby pivoted with clumsy determination to face the door to his apartment, which he expected to find open with a certain suited figure standing lazily in its frame. He was wrong. The apartment was empty. Ted's heart sank.

"Ted, Ted, look at me!"

Mosby again shook, this time at the awful realization that his name was being called through his laptop. He turned with hesitance. The image greeting him was that of the villainous doctor, a familiar look of intolerance plastered across his not-so-terrifying face. Dr. Horrible gestured an eerily recognizable motion to his webcam. Ted knew immediately—though it only increased the depth of the pit in his chest—that the doctor's signal was aimed for Ted Mosby's eyes only before it returned to lock those brown irises with blue.

"Ted," the tone Dr. Horrible used now was similar to the one Barney Stinson used often, "Ted, one: I still don't want you to even _think_ about marriage till you're thirty! And two:" The scientist sighed, "I'm sorry, for—yeah. Sorry. Everything happens, man."

_Don't say for a reason,_ Ted angrily thought. Reasons aren't fair.

Though to the architect's surprise Dr. Horrible left his statement at that, "But new world order, Ted, look for it!" He grinned, excitement over taking the doctor," It's going to be legen-wait for it! Keeping waiti—DARY! Muwahahahaha—"

* * *

The End.


End file.
